


Crownbreaker

by aisaac_nordrac



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Battle, Betrayal, Conspiracy, Drama, Gen, Magic, Original Character(s), Political Alliances, Post-Canon, Rags to Riches, Revolution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23314732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aisaac_nordrac/pseuds/aisaac_nordrac
Summary: 15 years have passed since the defeat of both Ulfric Stormcloak and Alduin, and the province of Skyrim has been living in an unprecedented peace thanks to the actions of the Dragonborn and his allies. But now, the unexpected death of an important character opens the door for conflict in the city of Solitude, the machinations of an old enemy finally being put in motion, the future of Skyrim is at stake. Will peace continue to reign in the province? Or will the old saying of "Season unending" prove true once again?
Kudos: 7





	1. Prologue

## Prologue

It’s a known fact that all good stories begin with death, no epic tale of a hero can start without them losing a loved one or their entire village, no tale of war and tragedy can begin without the passing of a noble and wise king, replaced by a ruthless and evil one, no story of mystery and suspense can take place without the untimely death of an individual, a death filled with suspicious circumstances and coincidences. Well, this story begins with death too, the death of a much-beloved man for the northern province of Skyrim, general Xaessar Tullius. For seventeen years had Tullius been living in Skyrim, and for fifteen of those years had the empire prospered in the province, after achieving total victory in the civil war. Yes, fifteen years had passed since Ulfric Stormcloak’s head had been placed on a pike outside Castle Dour in Solitude, where people could look at it and see what happened to those who questioned the authority of the empire.

This victory, of course, did not sit well with everyone, those who remained loyal to the rebel forces to the very end mourned Ulfric, and despised the empire with a bitter heart, some even attempting small insurgence movements, though most of them failed to drag in enough supporters. Those who merely wished for a free Skyrim were disappointed, learning that the empire would continue to hold political control of the province.

Then, there were those annoyed at this result because they hoped the war would be prolonged, for example, the Thalmor and the Aldmeri Dominion. It was no secret that the Dominion sought control of Skyrim, as it was one of the last provinces the empire controlled, before it too fell into conflict, and the unexpected death of Titus Mede II did not help the imperial cause. If the war lasted for long enough, the empire of man would spend its few last resources and crumble away, leaving the entirety of Tamriel without a central force to defend it against the clear supremacy of the Altmer.

That is, _if_ the war lasted, which it didn’t.

What no one would’ve predicted is that the empire gained a huge advantage by getting support from none other than the Dovahkiin of legend, the Dragonborn, a half-nord half-imperial man by the name of Tywin. The Dovahkiin did not only prove a great propaganda tool, as having him by their side meant the imperial legion had the blessing of the old Nordic gods, the man also proved to be a great military strategist, and a great soldier too, incredibly quickly did he rise in the ranks of the legion to become a legate, until the only one who had a bigger authority than him was the general himself, Tullius.

And so, with the help of a mythical hero and superior numbers, the rebellion was crushed, forced into the city of Windhelm, until the best legionnaires came, crashing down the gates and killing Ulfric, the rebel leader, and the self-proclaimed High King of Skyrim. Now, fifteen years after that whole affair was dealt with, and the dragon threat had been eradicated, Skyrim remained united, the empire prospered in a way not seen for hundreds of years, the Thalmor lost a significant amount of control in the province, and they were forced to accept this, as they had no real casus belli in hand to invade Skyrim, which was now stronger than before even the Great War.

Tullius’s body was put over a bonfire, an old way to send off a nord, and a tremendous honor for a foreigner. The royal court of solitude stood by the fire, watching as their old friend and ally turned to ash, his soul hopefully finding rest in whatever afterlife he sought. High Queen Elisif was holding Tullius’s old cape, the one thing she wanted to keep, as a final memory of the man who had helped restore peace to Skyrim. People remained watching the fire until dark, after which most of the citizens of Solitude began to go back to their homes, until only Elisif herself, her son Angal, thane Erikur and Falk Firebeard, her former steward stayed, silently mourning.

When they returned to the Blue Palace, Elisif’s new stewardess, Margna, approached the group. “My queen, a letter has arrived for-” Margna began to say, but was interrupted by Elisif.

“Thank you Margna, but I wish to be left alone in my chambers for the rest of the night, I do not feel well right now.” Elisif stepped away from the group and headed for her chambers.

“But your majesty, it’s a letter from the Dragonborn.” Exclaimed Margna, holding a folded piece of paper, extending her arm so Elisif could grab it.

Elisif’s eyes lit up at this name, and so she grabbed the letter to read it in her bedchambers. “Alright, I believe that will be all, my dear friends, I will see you all soon, goodbye.” Said Elisif, closing a door behind her, leaving the group to themselves.

“Well, I suppose I should be heading home now,” said Falk, heading for the palace door, “Bryling will most likely want to speak profusely about this whole ordeal, and I ought to be there with her.”

“And I should go back home and check the expenses for the funeral,” said Erikur, “I wouldn’t want the queen to pay more than she has to for mourning her friend.”

Finally, Angal, the prince of Solitude and heir to the throne of Skyrim headed for his chambers as well, “Very well, my lord, my thane, I shall head to bed as well, this day has been tiring.” Angal bid the two men farewell.

The queen sat on her writing desk, and opened the letter her stewardess had given her, the letter did indeed come from the Dragonborn himself, as indicated by the unique seal on the envelope, a dragon’s head, the man always kept an appropriate theme for himself and everything he did. The letter read the following:

“To my dear friend, Queen Elisif I of Skyrim: I’m terribly saddened to hear the news that our mutual friend, Xaessar Tullius has passed away, I wish I could’ve been there with him, as I wish I could be there for you now. Unfortunately, things are looking quite busy in Sjel Blad at the moment, and I’ve been having an incredibly tight schedule as of late, seems like trouble never sleeps in this country. So, while I’m currently unable to go to Solitude myself at the moment, I’ve sent you a memento, the gift Tullius gave me the day we achieved victory against Ulfric, his sword. I was planning on putting it up for display in my armory, but I figured it would be better if I handed it to you, to do as you see fit. I’ve ordered my courier to deliver the sword to Castle Dour, where I presume, as you read this, it is now. What you do with it I leave to your discretion, but I know you’ll make excellent use of it. Though the sword didn’t have a name when Tullius gave it to me, I took the liberty of giving it a more appropriate name: Crownbreaker. Regardless, I am sure that all will be in order soon, Tullius did always trust you to make the right decision, and he would want you to remain strong through these trying times. I will visit Solitude as soon as I can, but meanwhile, I hope you find yourself well, and are enjoying these times of peace, and do send my regards to young Angal, and to all our friends at court.

Best regards and best of luck,

Tywin Stormblade, Lord of Sjel Blad.”

Reading this letter made Elisif feel a little better, Tywin had been an essential ally to winning the war, to be sure, but he’d also been a great friend since the day he came back to court after learning of the plan to resurrect Potema in Wolfskull cave, all those years ago, he placed Torygg’s old warhorn on a Talos shrine, risking his life, as Thalmor justiciars were rampant in those days. Since then, he would visit Solitude regularly, checking if Elisif or anyone else in the court needed some unconventional business taken care of, he even ran errands on occasion, even though he very well could’ve acted as some sort of messiah figure, too divine to even look the average peasant in the eye, seeing as he defeated an ancient evil that could’ve destroyed the entire world, had it been left to its own devices.

With the letter put safely in her letterbox, Elisif had her maidens put on her nightgown so she could finally head to bed, leaving this sad day on a high note and hoping things would soon get better, for her, and for her city, her country.

Though within the grief, within the sadness of a city, within the tears and many farewells there came an idea, a simple idea that would wreak havoc on the city of Solitude, maybe all of Skyrim, and perhaps all of Tamriel. Would it truly be so bad if the Altmer were to rule Tamriel? Thought Tyral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening, my name is Aisaac, and I hope you're having a great day. This is my first upload ever, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Hopefully, I'll be able to upload the next part soon. Thank you so much for reading! And don't forget to keep yourself safe, and if possible, stay at home, cheers.  
> This story was inspired by several mods from nexusmods.com, such as:  
> Sjel Blad Castle- https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/41612  
> Inigo- https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/40960  
> Lucien - Fully Voiced Follower- https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/95029


	2. Dawn

**Part 1: A New Rebellion**

It was a lovely afternoon in the Solitude docks, the sun shone brightly over a blue sky, on which no cloud could be seen; the waters of the sea were calm and quiet. The sound of people talking and walking about could be heard, and ships were arriving and leaving through the arch the city rested upon. Summer had begun, and with it came the trading season, as the ice from the Sea of Ghosts melted and it was easier for ships to arrive safely into the ports of Skyrim.

Between the hustle and the bustle of the docks, two men could be seen carrying large crates on carts. The first man was a bosmer, short and with spiky red hair, though he had unusually large shoulders for an elf. The second man was an imperial, with tanned skin and short black hair, and a thin unkept goatee on his face, which he didn’t shave out of a needless sense of pride for a beard that was barely even there.

The two men were moving the crates from the docks to the Blue Palace.

“Hey, Bolion?” The man asked the elf, not stopping his cart for one second.

“Yeah?” The elf replied, not looking in the man’s direction.

“We’ve been having a pretty good season so far, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Season of what? Sowing?”

“Yes, that’s what I meant. You know, we deserve an appropriate reward for our efforts this last month.” Said the man, smirking.

“Get to the point, Tyral, you know I don’t like these riddles of yours,” replied the elf, in an exasperated manner, “besides, we’ve already done this before, and I don’t think they’ll be fooled by the same trick twice.”

“Aw, come on, they didn’t even notice last time!”

“They wrote an official letter to the brewery asking them to improve the quality of their products, man, these people know their booze, we only got away because you didn’t reek of alcohol that one day, but now you do,” said Bolion sniffing at the air around his friend, “at best they’ll chop off your fingers for stealing from the queen, at worst they’ll execute you for attempted poisoning.”

“But I’m not trying to poison Elisif!” Responded Tyral in exaggerated offense at this implication.

“You don’t need to, it’s all in what _they_ think you’re trying to do.”

“So what, now there need to be consequences for taking part of someone else’s property? That’s proper bullshit and you know it, Bolion.”

“Uh, no, that’s literally the concept of crime, Ty. Look, we already have plenty of ale back at Blaise’s, why do we need to steal this?”

“Because that shit tastes like dog sick that’s been diluted in piss, I need something stronger, sweeter, freer.”

“I mean I quite like the ale…” Bolion looked under his breath, “but anyway, we can’t steal twice from the same people and that’s final, your luck is going to run out one day, and I don’t want that to be today. Besides I’m with you on this errand so if you die I die probably.”

“Ugh, fine, I won’t take any rum and refill the bottle with water this time.”

“Good, now we ought to hurry,” said Bolion, picking up the pace up the road, “we don’t want these bottles to stay out under the sun for too long.”

Both men hurried up to the gatehouse, sweat dripping down their chins and faces red as snowberries. The guard at the gate gave a friendly wave to the pair.

“Greetings, Tyral, Bolion, you doing another delivery to the market?” Asked the guard.

“Nah, this time we’re heading up to the Blue Palace, we got some fine beverages here to be delivered to the queen’s table.” Answered Tyral, moving his hands about like a bard, almost letting his cart roll down the road before catching it.

“Well then, let me open up the gate for you two, be careful now, lots of urchins about these days.”

“We’ll be careful, friend, thank you.” Said Bolion, waving goodbye to the guard.

As the gates opened, the men stepped inside the city, the towers of Castle Dour standing intimidating in the distance, the stone walls were growing moss on them.

Tyral turned around and then to his friend, and asked:

“Who was that?”

“I have no idea, I genuinely can’t tell who any of these guards are half of the time, they all look so eerily similar…” Replied Bolion, shuddering. 

A faint scent of fish and copper could be sniffed in the air, the sounds of flutes in the distance and the screams of children playing in the streets, this was Solitude alright, truly a city worthy of the title of capital.

Tyral and Bolion walked through the streets, looking at the many people going about their business, some dressed in fine silks and furs, others wearing barely stitched together rags. People bought fish and produce at the market, where old man Addvar sold his sometimes-not-so-fresh fresh fish, and Jala could be seen hearing in on any gossip she could. The market was a fun place to be around, the food there would always be good, and the chatter was even better, always amusing to listen to.

Going past the market, they finally arrived at the gate to the Blue Palace, where a guard stopped them.

“Halt, you two, this is the royal palace of Skyrim, and I will not-” Began to say the orc before Tyral interrupted him.

“And you will not let anyone through who isn’t authorized yadda-yadda something-something I will break your skull in half, we get it, Gulabash, we’re just here to deliver some rum, can you let us through, please?” Said Tyral.

“Oh, it’s you two idiots,” snarked back the broad and imposing orc standing in front of the two men, “well alright, not as if you could cause any trouble if you wanted to.”

“Friendly as always, you green freak.” Bolion said quietly.

“Actually yes, I’m in a particularly good mood today because of my promotion, so you’re lucky I don’t just toss you in the dungeon for calling me that, tree-fucker.”

“They promoted you? To what? And why?” Asked Tyral.

“Well, ever since general Tullius’s death a lot of the older palace guards have become worried that they’re spending too much time working and not focusing on themselves, or their families, so they retired,” Gulabash pointed to the bards college courtyard, where three old men could be seen sharing a drink and laughing. “so some new guards have been hired, and they needed a new captain, and since I’m the most competent guard in this entire city, I’ve been given the post.”

Tyral and Bolion nodded and said oh in unison, before their expression quickly changed to confusion.

“Wait, Tullius is dead?” Asked Tyral incredulously.

Gulabash looked at the young man with an expression of disbelief and mere disappointment. “First of all, that’s _general_ Tullius, and second of all, he has been for about a week now, how do you not know this?”

“We don’t leave the farm that often.” Explained Bolion.

“And when we do, it’s for drinks.” Enthusiastically added Tyral. 

Gulabash sniffed the air and noted the strong smell of alcohol coming from Tyral, and he made a look of disgust.

“I swear to Malacath, I’ll never understand the obsession you peasants have with drinking. Just go inside before I vomit.”

“Right away, chief.” Said Tyral, moving his cart in a deliberately forceful manner before suddenly, a bottle of rum fell from the cart, hitting the grass below and rolling down a small mound of dirt into a wall a few yards away from the three men, the softness of the grass preventing it from getting smashed.

Tyral gasped, “Shit, I should probably go look for the bottle, I’ll be right back.”

Gulabash rolled his eyes. “If that bottle breaks it’s coming off both your salaries.”

Tyral went down the small mound and into the corner where the bottle had rolled, finding it mostly intact, if with a little dirt on it. Tyral picked up the bottle and looked at the contents, before quickly opening it and pouring some of its content on a small container he hid within his jacket. He pulled out a Bota bag from another part of his jacket and poured some of its contents to refill the bottle of rum.

Bolion soon joined with Tyral and looked horrified at what his friend was doing, he quietly yelled: “Tyral WHAT are you doing?! I told you not to take the rum! I told you! Stop pouring water in it you’ll ruin it!”

“It’s not water, it’s ale!” Tyral quietly yelled as well.

“What?! I thought you said it tasted like dog shit! How in Oblivion are they not going to notice ALE in their drinks?”

“No, I said it tasted like dog _sick._ Now shut the fuck up before mister cabbage over there hears us. Let’s go.” Tyral got up and took the bottle.

“What are you two up to?” Asked Gulabash, sticking his head out from the gate.

“Nothing, nothing, just cleaned the bottle a little bit, is all.”

Tyral and Bolion quickly began placing the crates of rum into the palace, where a servant awaited them. One by one, all the bottles were moved from the crates into the kitchens, where a chef could be seen preparing food for a coming feast.

“Looks like that’s it,” Bolion placed the last crate on the floor of the palace, “got to go.”

“Hold on just a moment!” A new voice rang out.

Coming down the stairs, a red-haired young man wearing fine clothing and jewels on his neck could be seen carrying a silver cup in his hand.

“Prince Angal!” The servant who carried the bottles yipped in surprise, “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be taking lessons from Jorn this time of day.”

“I was, but the old geezer fell asleep a few minutes ago, and I thought I’d come down here for some booze!” Said the prince, excitedly.

Tyral made an unimpressed expression, as he considered “booze” a term exclusively used by peasant folk, “who the blazes was this snobby kid to use words that didn’t belong to him?” he thought, before stopping to consider what this new situation implied, there was a chance the prince could actually drink from the bottle Tyral had just filled with shitty ale.

“Wait,” Tyral stepped between the crate of rum and the prince, “why do you need to drink now? Don’t you have unlimited access to drinks from your cellar?”

It was a little jarring to everyone in the room how casually Tyral addressed a member of the royal family, though no one bothered to say anything.

The prince blushed when answering the question. “Well… Mother is extremely protective of me, and she constantly worries that I might be in danger from the slightest risks, so she doesn’t allow me anywhere near alcohol, but she’s visiting Castle Dour right now, so this might be my one chance to finally drink some alcohol.”

The prince started to go for the crate on the floor in order to grab a bottle of rum and got dangerously close to grabbing the bottle with the ale in it. Tyral and Bolion gave each other a look of panic and the former began to speak out before he was interrupted by the servant.

“Uh, prince, I really don’t think-”

“Your highness! You can’t! If her majesty finds out I allowed you to drink this rum she’d never forgive me!” The servant stopped the prince from grabbing the bottle at the last second, much to Tyral’s relief.

“I’m a grown man, for the divines’ sake! I’m going to be fine; I don’t want to take the whole bottle I just want to have a sip, woman.” Said Angal, taking the bottle in spite of the servant’s protest, and she just put her head down in compliance, Tyral clenched his fists at this.

Angal poured a small amount of dark golden-brown liquid into his cup, much to the two peasants’ dismay. They expected the worst as the prince began to stir the cup slightly, and smelling the liquid, his eyes widened as the strong scent of alcohol reached his nose. The prince put the cup on his lips and began to drink; as soon as he swallowed, he grimaced and softly coughed.

“Oh… oh that’s just, uh, great. Very… oaky, definitely a fine beverage, too fine, in fact, I don’t think I want to waste it on myself, at all.” The prince gave his silver cup to the servant, who bowed one last time before heading to the kitchens to clean it.

It was clear to both man and elf that the prince was even less experienced with alcohol than they thought, it looked as though he had never had a drop of it in his life, incredibly uncommon for a noble, even more so for a prince. The fact that he couldn’t tell he had just drank the lowest quality of ale possible meant Tyral and Bolion were safe, for now.

Another servant came and paid the appropriate amount for the bottles of rum, with that whole business dealt with, it was time for them to leave.

“Well, your highness, we should head home now, it’s getting a bit late,” said Bolion as he turned around towards the door, “farewell to all.”

The prince looked distracted, as if he was still focusing on the terrible taste of the drink he had just drunk. “Yes, you too, elf, safe travels,” said the prince, before heading in the other direction, towards the palace steps, “oh no it’s stuck on my throat…” The prince mumbled to himself, looking underwhelmed, if a little disappointed. 

Tyral and Bolion left the palace and saw Gulabash again, who was waiting there with his arms crossed.

“I’m surprised neither of you has been sent to the dungeon, considering those loudmouths of yours.” Said the orc, grinning.

Tyral began to retort, “And I’m surprised you haven’t-” But Bolion interrupted him, grabbing Tyral by his arm while walking away.

“Come on, Ty, it’s not worth it, let’s just head home.” Said Bolion.

“I… Fine, let’s go.” Tyral began to protest, but he just kept walking.

As both elf and man went across the palace gate, Gulabash shook his head and said to himself:

“Oh, those two really need to get their shit together.”

Tyral and Bolion went walking back the way they came, and now the sky began to show that characteristic yellow tint that meant dusk was soon approaching. People were still in the streets, going about their business, just with a less dense crowd around.

Just as they were about to get to the main gate, Tyral stopped and looked back at his favorite place in the whole wide world, _his_ whole wide world, as he had never gone beyond Dragonbridge in his life, the Winking Skeever.

Bolion turned around to see Tyral looking at the fine establishment, and rolled his eyes at what was happening.

“Tyral, no, we really should get back to Blaise’s now, if we don’t he’s going to be as mad as Oblivion is prone to merging with Mundus, and you already stole some rum, isn’t that enough?”

“Oh, come on, it was like half an ounce of rum, I need a real drink right about now.”

“If that’s how you want to do it, be my guest,” said Bolion, surprising Tyral, “but, if you want to buy a drink, you’re going to _buy_ a drink, with your own money, give me the rum payment.”

Tyral, in different circumstances, would’ve protested, but he had already made Bolion’s day stressful enough, so he decided to just go ahead and do it. 

“Very well, I’ll tell Blaise you’ll be coming in late, again. Good luck, Ty, and don’t pass out on the street please.” Bolion bid his friend farewell and crossed the city gates.

Tyral entered the Winking Skeever, where he could smell the unmistakable stench of stale beer and spilled wine, this was a place he felt welcomed in.

Tyral sat down in a free stool next to the bar, where an old man could be seen cleaning the top.

“Well, if it isn’t my old friend, Tyrant!” Yelled the old man.

“Heh, it’s actually ‘Tyral’, Corpulus.” Tyral corrected the bartender.

“Ah, so it is. Forgive me, son, this old mind’s too full of names to keep track of them all nowadays. Now then, will you be having the usual today?”

“You bet, old man, make it a pint please.”

“Right away. Sorex! Bring us a pint of ale for the gentleman!” Shouted the old man to his son, who was serving food across the room.

As soon as the pint arrived, he began chugging it down as if he had been walking on the Alik’r desert for days. Tyral had the whole routine planted in his mind after years of following it, drink, speak, drink, speak, drink, speak, maybe drink some more. It was pleasant to have so many interesting people with whom to speak, as Tyral never seemed to run out of new stories and interesting anecdotes.

About three pints in, Tyral began to feel a little dizzy, which meant the drinks were doing their job well, and Tyral now felt more comfortable telling other patrons of his day, about how he insulted the guard-captain at the Blue Palace gates, and how he tricked the prince of Skyrim into drinking cheap ale.

“So, Corpulus, tell me, how is Minette doing these days?” Asked Tyral, probably about to say some vulgar comment about the bartender’s daughter, until suddenly, he felt something hard and small hit the back of his head, causing a bit of pain.

Tyral turned to see who could’ve thrown whatever it was that just hit him, and saw a brooding figure sitting by one of the tables near the chimney, looking straight at him. Looking down, he saw what hit him, a septim, a single septim coin. Annoyed and a little angry, Tyral went to confront his attacker, not without taking his mug, of course.

“Ah, if you’re going to exchange punches, do take it outside, we just cleaned the floors.” Corpulus requested.

Tyral sat down with the man who had just thrown the coin and examined him from up close. The man was an elf, a high elf for that matter, he was dressed in all black, with small gold threads going through his clothing, a black hood covered most of his face, but the pale skin, light hair and pointy ears that were visible from the outside were a giveaway. The elf was smirking, making Tyral think this was just some tipsy elf who got off of annoying people by throwing them things.

“Hey, I think you dropped this.” Said Tyral, putting the coin down on the table.

“Maybe, but you may keep it.” The elf said in a deep and hoarse voice.

“Uh, thanks, I guess. Do you have a problem with me, elf?”

The elf did not react to Tyral’s attempts at being intimidating. “Not at all, actually, I merely wanted to speak with you, though my attempt to call you over with words seemed to fail, as you were in too deep in conversation with the men around you.”

“And throwing a coin at my head was the second-best way to get my attention, I take it?” Tyral sat down with the elf, as he seemed to be an interesting character, and perhaps he could make for some amusing conversation.

“It was, I do apologize for being so rude, I have not even properly introduced myself.” The elf removed his hood to reveal a shaved head, except for the top, which housed a long strand of blonde hair running down the elf’s face.

“My name is Faenor, and I’m an agent for the Thalmor Embassy in Skyrim, a pleasure to meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, this is quite the weird date to be uploading on, I think. Anyway, we're finally getting into the actual story with this chapter, so thank you for reading, I hope you want to read some more, and I hope you have a great day! Cheers.


	3. The Thalmor

_Blaise’s Farm, 7:31 pm, 2 nd of Rain’s Hand, 218 4E. _

3,000 septims, that was the amount of money Blaise’s farm owed in taxes to the crown, and they had exactly one week to pay it off before guards would come down and begin taking possession after possession until nothing was left, leaving Blaise, Tyral, Bolion and the woman reading the ledger placed on Blaise’s desk homeless, and destitute.

The door to the farmhouse made the distinct creaking noise that meant it was opened, and the woman quickly shut the book and put it back where she had found it.

“Bernielle, your favorite idiot is back! Come down and help us get the carts in place!” Blaise could be heard shouting from the entrance.

“In a minute, boss!” Shouted back Bernielle.

Coming down the stairs and out the farmhouse, Bernielle was nervous to tell Tyral of her discovery in Blaise’s study, since he was the only one she could talk to about this problem, she didn’t want Blaise to be even more concerned than he already probably was, and, it’s not that she disliked Bolion, he just wasn’t particularly talkative, or interesting. However, as soon as she got on the road leading to the farm, she noticed that both carts were coming down, with only one bosmer pushing them, and her smile dropped slightly.

Blaise was standing by the road as well, waiting for both carts, so when he didn’t see Tyral anywhere, he inquired:

“Hey, where’s mister scruffy, Bolion? I thought he’d come down to collect his pay as soon as you were done delivering the rum.”

“Yeah, well he decided he should go and wet the whistle.” Answered the bosmer.

“Gross.” Said Bernielle, amused at the apparent innuendo.

“To drink, I mean, he went to the Winking Skeever for a drink.”

“Ah, I hope he’s not expecting a fine beverage then.”

“Oh gods damn it, what does he find so attractive about that wretched place? There’s nothing but old sellswords, drunken fools and sly wenches over there, and it smells terrible too.” Blaise claimed.

“Are you sure you’re not just still angry because Minette Vinius refused your marriage proposal?” Bernielle teased.

“Oh piss off, you,” Chortled Blaise, “Hmm, it’s getting quite late now, the sun’s almost halfway down the horizon, we should pack up for the day and eat some supper.”

“I’m certainly all for that, boss, I’m starving.” Said Bolion.

“So what have you fixed up for us this fine evening, Blaise?” Asked Bernielle, gently nudging at her friend.

“Well, since we’ve a surplus of potatoes from the last shipment, so I made us some stew.”

“I actually caught a few carps just this morning, you should put them in the stew.” Added Bolion.

With the carts put in their place, the three friends and colleagues got to work to set the table and eat supper to end the day. Blaise added bits of fish to the stew he had prepared earlier and put it to a boil. As the breton woman and the nord man sat down to eat, the bosmer took his bowl of stew and went up to his room.

“Hey,” Said Blaise, “where are you going? We just sat down.”

“I know, I just have more interesting conversations to have with myself up here, goodnight for now.” Said Bolion before shutting the door.

“Hmph, what a strange little fellow, that one.” Said Bernielle.

“Ah, let him, he’s just more comfortable in his own mind lost in his own thoughts, we all fulfill our socializing needs in different ways, and he needs only himself.”

“If you say so, boss.”

As both of them ate, Blaise constantly opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, although he stuffed his face with food before he could. Bernielle assumed this was because he was about to tell her about the whole debt situation, and just didn’t know when was the proper time to do it.

Finally, as he was about to put another spoonful of stew into his mouth, he spoke.

“Bernielle, I must ask you something.”

“Sure, go ahead.” Bernielle put down her spoon and looked into Blaise’s eyes, who turned away as if to avoid eye contact.

“You say you’re from Dragonbridge, right? Does your family still live there?” Asked Blaise.

“Well, only my mother, really, why?”

“Let’s say that, hypothetically, you had to move out of here, could you go back to live with your mother?”

“No,” Bernielle quickly answered, “she’s an old woman now, to go back with her would only put even more stress on her, even if I work to provide for myself she’d still feel the need to take care of me, at least if I’m here she knows I’m safe with you guys. Besides, I can only hope to join the bards college if I live near Solitude.”

“Oh, okay then, that reminds me, how are your savings going? Do you think you’re going to be able to buy that dress you wanted to hear at your audition soon?”

“If things keep going fine, then I think by the end of the month, yes.”

“Good, that’s very good.” Sheepishly muttered Blaise.

As soon as both of them finished their supper, Blaise and Bernielle went to their respective rooms to sleep, Bolion could be heard snoring from his room too. Bernielle put on her nightgown and prayed to the divines, she prayed so that they wouldn’t lose their home, she prayed so that Blaise could find the money to pay what they owed, she prayed so that she didn’t have to go back to her mother, so that she could follow her dream of joining the bards college, she prayed so that her friends didn’t become homeless. She prayed and fell asleep, thinking about how Tyral still hadn’t returned home.

_The Winking Skeever, 1:23 am, 3 rd of Rain’s Hand, 418 4E_

Any person with common sense will tell you that talking with a Thalmor justiciar is a bad idea, particularly any human without total obedience to mer kind. Tyral was not a person with common sense when he was sober, and he was drunk when talking to Faenor, so perhaps his lack of caution or discretion could be, if not forgiven, understood.

“Thalmor agent? You mean like those guys that used to kill people who worshipped Talos.” Said Tyral.

Faenor frowned at this, “Well, essentially yes, I am one of ‘those guys’.”

“Ah.”

Both men stared at each other for a few moments, expecting the other to speak up or do anything.

“So… Do you want anything, or should I just go back to my friends?”

“I most certainly do, my imperial friend. I heard you talking to those men over there and noticed you went to the Blue Palace this afternoon, is that correct?”

“It is correct.”

“Good, I also overheard you talking about how you tricked the prince of Skyrim into drinking cheap ale! Now that, is completely hilarious, and very telling of your abilities.”

“It is?” Tyral looked confused, but curious at this last part.

“Why yes, not just anyone can trick a member of the royal family, those people know their drinks as well as a blacksmith knows his steel, you show great charisma, and capacity for persuasion, Tyral.”

Tyral blushed and looked a bit flustered, not expecting to receive such compliments from this particular individual, “Oh, well, huh, thank you, that’s very kind.”

Faenor then spoke with a much more serious tone, and the expression on his face followed suit.

“Now listen, what I’m about to tell you is extremely secret, and it could very well change your life forever, Tyral, so I’m trusting you to keep this conversation between us, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, I’m real good at secretion.” Tyral said loudly.

“I can see that.”

“So what’s this very secret thing you wanted to talk about? You want me to steal something? Because I have friends who-”

“I want you to help me overthrow the monarchy.” Faenor declared.

“I… you what?”

“As simple as that, my friend, I want, scratch that, I _need_ you to help me overthrow the monarchy of Skyrim.”

“But why?!”

“Because this kingdom has for too long been supported by the backs of peasants, and hardworking people who don’t get a small say in the way they want to live their lives.”

“Are you joking? Why would you tell me that?”

“Because I need someone with charisma, persuasion and very good looks to help me lead this movement. I mean, look at me, I’m an elf, nords barely trust us as it is, if I tell them I want to overthrow their queen, they’ll cut my head off before I finish the sentence.”

“Let’s say I agree to this whole thing, what then? Am I supposed to just waltz into the Blue Palace and declare myself the new king or something?”

“No, no, of course not, that’s what your skills are needed for, if you convince enough people to follow you, you can create an army to take over the entire city, and in time, the entire country,” Explained Faenor, smiling wide. “and if you’re wondering what happens then, I’ll explain it too. Once Solitude belongs to the people, my Thalmor comrades and I will provide you with a new system of government, overseeing those pesky statistics and finances while your people take care of the government itself, ruling yourselves just as Ulfric Stormcloak wanted during the civil war.”

“Wait, are you saying the Thalmor are going to be the ones in charge after we take Solitude? Isn’t that like, the opposite of what the Stormcloak fellow wanted?”

“Not at all, the Thalmor aren’t going to rule anything, the Thalmor are merely the representatives of the Aldmeri Dominion, and I’m saying we’ll aid you in ruling yourselves, we’ll provide the resources and a more logistical insight into how you can achieve that.”

Tyral looked at his drink, processing what Faenor had just told him, and drank some more.

“I’m… not sure about this, I mean, I’ve not heard tales of the Thalmor being particularly fond of humans, and you had control of the country for a long time before and during the civil war, you killed hundreds of Talos worshippers, I don’t see why you’d do anything good for us.”

“Tyral, humans have been killing each other over their beliefs for centuries now, Talos was a figure too influential and dangerous for the world, the Thalmor never wanted to destroy his cult, they wanted to put a stop to it before it destroyed you.”

“All I hear about the Thalmor is them calling humans inferior, saying how we should submit to elven supremacy, even if the worship of Talos wasn’t going to be all destroyed, then why would your comrades say things like that if they didn’t believe them? Are we supposed to just live under your heel, without our freedom?”

“All groups have their bad apples, it’s inevitable that a few of our members let their ego run wild, believing themselves superior, besides, you talk about inferiority, yet you ignore the thousands of years of elven discrimination; sure, the Thalmor may have called humans primitive, inferior, but how many times have you heard a nord calling an elf just ‘elf’? Just when we spoke you didn’t bother to ask my name, you just called me an elf.”

“I mean, that’s because you are.”

“True, but I don’t just call you ‘human’, I bothered to ask your name and I’ve called you that since.”

Tyral stopped to think about that last part, had he asked Tyral’s name? He couldn’t remember, he still felt dizzy, he drank again.

“As I was saying,” Faenor continued, “were dozens of dark elves not executed under the assumption that they were imperial spies during the war? Are not all elves in a constant state of segregation? And don’t get me started on argonians or khajiit.”

“That’s… actually a good point. But if we still hate you how do you plan to help us run the government? Why would you think we want, need, your help?”

“Let me ask you something, who do you think is responsible for all the years of hatred between humans and elves, hmm? The peasants? The common man? No, of course not, it’s always those in power, kings and high priests and emperors, the mages,” Faenor clenched his jaw at the mention of the last group, “they tell their people that they’re superior, that they’re the ones chosen by the gods, and I disagree, I believe we were all put here to make the world better by ourselves, we were all chosen, not just some of us, otherwise there’d be no reason for any of us to exist.”

People began to leave the tavern, most of them drunk out of their minds, and so the chatter got a lot less loud, making Faenor keep his voice down more.

“The Thalmor believe in no such nonsense anymore, we believe that by choosing to rule ourselves we can take destiny into our hands and make the world a better place, and we want to give you all the same opportunity. If we rid ourselves of our monarchs we can finally live free, take the first step towards a truly fair and just world, all you need to do is accept our guidance and our aid.”

Tyral looked very tired, and felt terrible, he spoke in slurred words. “Alright, I think I get where you’re going, you need me to gather a mob and kill everyone in the Blue Palace, got it. But wait, when are we gonna do this? I’m not free on Morndas.”

“We shall look at the details tomorrow, at your home, Blaise’s farm I believe?”

“Yup, that’s the old place, you know he used to sleep in the stables there when he was a boy?”

“Fascinating. Regardless, will you accept my offer to organize this movement and finally give you a chance to rule yourselves? If you say no I’ll understand, but I’ll have to wipe your memory of this conversation.”

“Nah, don’t worry, you don’t have to do that, I accept your offering.”

“That would be ‘offer’ but alright.” Faenor said under his breath, rolling his eyes.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing, I’m glad you accept, Tyral, I need a man of your many talents to pull this operation off. But for now I think it’s high time you slept.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll just rent a room for the night or something…”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly let you do that, I’ll walk you home, I don’t want you to spend any more money than you have to.”

Tyral looked surprised, as no one had ever offered to walk him home after a night of heavy drinking. Faenor placed Tyral’s arm over his shoulder, to help him walk.

“Bye Corpulus!” Shouted Tyral, though he didn’t see the bartender anywhere, he probably had already gone to bed.

The pair walked down the road and exited the city, the smell of humidity leaving their nostrils, replaced by the smell of trees and other greenery, the sound of leaves shuffling around could be heard as well. When they were about halfway down to Blaise’s farm, Tyral spoke once again, though he barely retained consciousness at that point.

“Hey, wait a second, Feefee.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Huh? Okay fine. So, what about the guards? And Tullius and all those guys that guard the city? Aren’t they gonna fight or something?”

“Tullius is dead, Tyral,” Faenor said, smiling, “and if those guards aren’t willing to understand that you’re just trying to help your people, then they’ve already betrayed you, and then my comrades and I will take care of them.”

“Sounds good, I guess, but what about the Dovanka… Dovika… The dragon man? How are we supposed to deal with him if he tries to stop us?”

Faenor’s smile dropped, and he actually stopped walking to think for a second.

“Shit…” he muttered, “not to worry, my friend, we’ll figure out a way soon enough.”

Faenor walked Tyral all the way to the entrance of the farm, where he let him go and said goodbye.

“This is it, Tyral, home sweet home, go and sleep now, we have a busy day tomorrow, or today I guess.”

“Haha, you’re funny, you’re a real funny elf man.” Blurted Tyral.

“Good to know. Bye for now.” Said Faenor, waving at Tyral.

Tyral turned to look back at his new friend, but he couldn’t see where he had gone, he sure was fast, Tyral thought.

It took several attempts for Tyral to grab the handle to the door, and when he finally got it he just grasped it for a while, unsure of what to do next. After a few moments, he opened the door and got inside the farmhouse, which looked as brown and felt as cozy as ever. He walked to the center of the living room, right next to the stairs leading to his and Bernielle’s room.

“I’m fucking drunk.” Said Tyral.

He then dropped to the floor, completely unconscious.

When he woke up, he could feel something cold on his face, he opened his eyes and realized he had just been poured a cup of water on him, the cup was held in Blaise’s hand, who seemingly towered over Tyral, still on the floor, and Blaise looked angry.

“Well, if it isn’t mister bad-cup, I was wondering when you’d wake up, I already poured three of these over you. I’ve never seen you this drunk before.”

Tyral felt the vibrations of Blaise’s voice hit his brain like sledgehammers, and the world looked just a little too bright for his comfort.

“What the fuck? Merciful Akatosh, will you keep it down? Urgh I think I’m dying over here.”

“Good, maybe you’ll be reborn a sensible adult then, Bernielle is waiting outside for you, she’s real upset that you didn’t come home last night, you know, you should apologize.” Blaise handed Tyral an egg.

“What is this?” Asked Tyral, now on his feet, unsure of what to do with the white orb he’d just been handed.

“Eat it, it’ll make you feel a little better, at least it always helps me.”

“Oh, thanks I guess.”

Tyral went up to his room, where he could see Bernielle’s bed all tidied up, as was his own bed, not strange considering he didn’t spend a second on it last night. He changed his smelly clothes and gathered his tools to get to work. Before he got out of the room, he vaguely remembered speaking with an elf the night before, something about overthrowing the queen? He didn’t remember any details, except for the fact that he agreed to something he knew he would regret. Tyral put his hands over his face, angry at himself for mindlessly saying yes when drunk, he would seriously need to reconsider his habits if he wanted to avoid embarrassing himself.

As he walked through the door to the farmhouse, he noticed Bernielle poring water over the sowed dirt, her beautiful rosy cheeks highlighted by the sunlight.

“Hello there, shining star of my terribly dark sky.” Gushed Tyral.

Bernielle turned to look at him and rolled her eyes playfully.

“And a good day to you, my handsome skald, I hope your beautiful verses aren’t ruined by all that alcohol.” Replied Bernielle jokingly, though a hint of true concern was present within her words.

“Ah, don’t worry about it, I may have gone a little too far last night, true, but I’m here aren’t I?”

“That’s just it though, you were lying on the floor next to the stairs when I woke up, how did you even get home in that state?”

Tyral placed his tools on the ground to get to work, tending to the horses.

“Well, my dear new elvish friend helped me get home safely last night.”

“Elvish friend eh? I thought you said you had enough of those with Bolion.”

“I thought I did, but this man is a true genius, he’s the real deal I tell you.”

Tyral realized he left the brush for the horses in his cupboard, he groaned and went to get it.

“And you know, he was actually telling me about this plan he had about-” Tyral began to say before opening the door to the farmhouse.

“Hello.” Said Faenor, standing still inside the farmhouse as Tyral opened the door.

Tyral shrieked. 


	4. Secunda

Faenor’s plan was simple; first and foremost, they needed weapons, lots of them, then they would need to organize a larger group among the citizens of Solitude to actually pull off this coup, then they’d need to go through the Blue Palace’s defenses, take everyone hostage, start cutting heads off if they refused to acknowledge the people’s sovereignty, and hope to all the divines that the Dragonborn didn’t show up. Easy.

The first part of the plan could be dealt with using only a small crew, and getting in contact with those in the criminal underworld, and there was no better place to start looking than the khajiit caravans, Tyral thought.

Ever since the defeat of the Stormcloak army, Thalmor influence decreased greatly in the province of Skyrim, and people began getting worried about when the next and most likely last Thalmor war would begin, and so a period of distrust in races from provinces controlled by the Dominion began, mostly for altmer and khajiit. Due to the already paranoid attitude nords took towards khajiit caravans, shown by the fact that cities refused to even allow them inside, a lot of holds simply banned them from their territories forever, making their trade even more difficult than it already was because of the very specific regions they were now allowed in. Ironically, the fact that trade became almost impossible made a lot of khajiit resort to fencing and selling contraband, making some people believe their concerns were justified.

Tyral knew of a Khajiit caravan that usually made camp outside the walls of Solitude every month, who usually sold weapons to mercenaries seeking coin within the city. That particular day only three khajiit sat around a campfire, talking and laughing together, until Tyral and Bolion approached them.

“Well hi there my dear furry friend, sir.” Said Tyral, unsure of who he was supposed to be addressing.

“This khajiit is not a sir, but a lady, how may she be of service, hmm?” Replied a khajiit woman with gray fur.

“Perhaps our friend here requires wares and weapons? Shall we show him what our humble group is selling today?” Inquired a male, black furred khajiit.

“Actually I was wondering if you’d be able to tell me where I could get hold of some supplies, for free.”

The three khajiit became visibly uncomfortable at this request, and one’s fur seemed to stand up.

“Whatever do you mean, friend?”

“I’m in need of some… tools, for less-than friendly purposes, and since you lot seem to have a lot of those I was thinking maybe you could tell me where you got them?”

“We merely sell wares to weary travelers, we do not take things for free and we do not like what you imply, perhaps a snitch has come to our caravan, hoping to tell on some innocent khajiit for coin, hmm?” Growled the one with her fur standing up, making Tyral gulp loudly.

“We do not like snitches, for they are worse than thieves, we kill snitches do we not?” Said the male khajiit, the others nodded in agreement.

“Oh, no, no, no, you misunderstood, me, I’m not trying to tell on you, I genuinely want to know where you stole that stuff from.” Hastily replied Tyral, immediately regretting the way he said it.

The three cat-folk then became visibly angry, their claws could be seen coming out of their fingers in unison.

“What my friend here is trying to say is, who is your leader?” Bolion stepped up to speak to the caravan, now angry at Tyral.

“Speak to Tsijarr, by the tree over there, bother us no more, imperial.” Hissed the khajiit with the gray fur.

“Thanks, we’ll leave now.”

Astonished at Tyral’s capacity to butcher an already ruined conversation in less than a minute, Bolion looked at where the khajiit had pointed, and saw a bigger, older looking khajiit with gray and black fur, wearing plated armor.

“Ah, there he is.” Said Tyral, approaching the tree under which the khajiit was sitting.

“Please just let me handle this, Tyral, I’m no fan of conversation but I’ve at least interacted with khajiit before.”

“Thank you, I get really nervous when I know someone’s angry at me, and it’s really easy to tell when those guys get mad.”

“Clearly. Excuse me, friend?” Bolion greeted the khajiit.

“Tsijarr is meditating, please go away.” Said the khajiit in a monotone voice.

“Excellent, could you tell us when you’re gonna be done?” Asked Tyral, the khajiit did not answer.

“He’s not gonna answer you now Ty, he’s already made it clear he’s meditating, and he won’t chat until he’s done.” Explained Bolion.

“…As I said, excellent, could you tell me when he’s gonna be done?”

“I can’t say, really, khajiit are very arbitrary folk, and I’m not sure what the criteria is for this one’s particular meditation method is, it could be he’s going to stay like that until the caravan leaves, could be three minutes from now.”

“So we just stay here until he moves?”

“Well, no, but if you want to make sure you could stay ‘til sundown.”

Tyral sighed, “Fine, we’ll stay, but if he doesn’t stand up by the time the moons are up we’re heading to the Winking Skeever to talk to Feefee.”

“’We’? Sounds like one too many to me, I’m leaving.”

“Wait, what? But I’ve barely ever interacted with khajiit before, how am I supposed to get him into this whole thing?”

“I don’t know, man, annoy him into joining or something, you annoyed me into this.” Said Bolion, heading down the path to Blaise’s farm.

“I- Fine, I’ll wait.” Tyral sat down next to the old khajiit, and crossed his arms, maybe he could try meditating too. As minutes went by, Tyral began to plan what he was going to say to persuade Tsijarr to help him with the plan. Should he subtly imply that he knew the wares his group was selling were stolen? Tyral didn’t _know_ if they were, but maybe it could put pressure on Tsijarr. Maybe Tyral could start off with what _he_ needed, bargaining and trying to reach Tsijarr’s soft spot, though he seemed to have a lot of soft spots; Tyral laughed and felt shame in laughing at his own joke.

After what seemed like hours of thinking, Tyral began to feel sleepy, and his head felt a lot heavier than usual, he lost consciousness and dreamt of fuzzy blankets, which for some reason had cat ears all over them. He woke up suddenly when he heard Tsijarr speaking. He shook his head and tried to hear what the khajiit had said.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said, Tsijarr heard what you said back there, to my caravan, no, we do not steal our wares and no I cannot tell you where you can steal more.” Answered Tsijarr.

“What? You mean you made me stay here for…” Tyral looked at the sky and noticed the moons were up, meaning it was at least 9 in the evening, “…several hours just to say no?”

“This one did not make you do anything, friend, you decided to stay here on your own.”

Tyral could not argue with that logic.

“But, wait, at least hear me out, we need all the help we can get, and I’ll be grateful for whatever you can offer.”

“’We’?”

“Yes, we, I’m part of a group that’s trying to organize a coop to take the city of Solitude and replace the monarchy.”

“What?! Also, do you perhaps mean ‘coup’?”

“That, and yes, and we really need your help, otherwise we can’t go through with anything, this first step is very important.”

“I see…” said Tsijarr, stroking his beard, or what Tyral assumed to be a beard, “and you say you require weapons, yes?”

“We do.”

“Alright, let us pretend you are not talking crazy right now, and that you are actually planning to take over the city, I have but two questions, would you grant them to Tsijarr?”

“Yes, of course, what do you want to know?”

“Thank you, if I were to help you and your group, what would I gain?”

“Do you mean, as in money?”

“In general, Tsijarr wishes to know what is in it for him.”

“Well, we’re going to take the Blue Palace, so probably whatever you think you can and should take with you.”

Tsijarr looked disappointed, “Interesting, but I will not risk my life for whatever is left after you and your group raid the coffers of the Blue Palace, it is not in my interest.”

“I figured, but look, this isn’t just about gold, or riches, and that’s not all my group can offer you,” Tyral thought back to what Faenor had told him the first time they met, “what would you say for a chance to finally enter the cities? To finally make trade with nords official, to set shops and establish routes within the province?”

Tsijarr’s eyes lit up and his ears ever so slightly, “You mean, we can stop sleeping in tents? Moving every week to a new place before the locals chase us out?”

“That and more, my friend, because we have help from one of the most powerful organizations in the world…” Tyral hesitated on whether or not to reveal the identity of the people behind this movement, it was pretty clear to him that no one was particularly fond of the Thalmor, and this was without knowing about the occupation of Elsweyr, by itself a controversial topic, “the Thalmor.”

“The… Thalmor, as in, the actual Thalmor, who have been trying to stir trouble in this country since the end of the Great War, the Thalmor who killed hundreds of Talos worshippers, the Thalmor who essentially admitted to have orchestrated the civil war, those Thalmor?”

“No, not exactly, you see, those were the Thalmor who thought they were invincible, unstoppable, the ones who had never faced a true obstacle before, the new Thalmor are aware of the struggles we face, as a people, they know what we need and they’ll help us fight for it.”

“Hmm, it is true, the Thalmor have greatly reduced their numbers, we rarely see them out on the road these days, and they do have a tendency to treat everyone as equally inferior.”

“Maybe, but I’d much rather act like I’m inferior than being constantly put down by countless kings and queens and jarls who want power for themselves, the Thalmor want power for us, and they offer their guidance to us.”

“I do not completely trust them, I will be honest, but it would be hypocritical of me to forget that when the Aldmeri can be capable of great kindness, to treat them like monsters is no different than nords treating us like thieves and pests.”

“Exactly, if we take the city and let the Thalmor help in creating a new government for us, we can have an actual chance at deciding our own fate, rather than leaving it in the hands of people who never worked a day to get the position they have.”

“And once the Thalmor leave, once you are left to your devices, what makes you so sure the nords will not just go back to hating us, that as soon as there is no more elven guidance we will be ostracized and kicked out once again?”

Tyral took a moment to think about his response, and said, “Well, think about it, what will the people think if they knew that a brave group of khajiit helped make this revolution possible? Don’t you think they’ll be thankful for your help and realize that you too are an essential part of this nation? You could start a new age of acceptance for khajiit, you know.”

“I… may know of a weapon’s shipment coming next week into the East Empire warehouse, containing silver and steel, I might help you retrieve it, because I truly do believe that what you are saying is true, and you do not reek of deceit or malintent like so many others who have claimed to want to help us.”

“There have been others who wanted to do this?”

“Not exactly this, but there was one who claimed to have us khajiit in mind, he said he wanted to help us, but when he won his war, he left us, abandoned us when the jarls decided we were too dangerous to be allowed in their holds, and we are now stuck in this land, away from our homeland, and with little means to return.”

Tyral felt genuinely bad from hearing this, “This country is strange to you, even after so many years, and I get that, this land will never be your homeland, I’m afraid,” Tyral stretched his hand out to Tsijarr, who took and shook it, “but I’ll be damned if I don’t try to make it your home.”

Tsijarr explained what he knew, and began planning how to successfully take the weapons needed, the appropriate time and the crew needed. They planned until the moons were at their highest, meaning it was around midnight, the cool breeze made Tyral’s hairs stand on end, meaning it was time to go home. He bid Tsijarr goodbye and headed for the farm, happy to have made a new ally for this plan. 

As he entered the farmhouse and opened the door to his room, Bernielle was standing right there, startling Tyral greatly.

“Akatosh almighty! Why do you people insist on doing that?”

“It’s past midnight, Tyral, where were you?” Bernielle asked angrily.

“I was plotting, like I’ve been doing for the past week, why?”

“You haven’t tended to the horses in five days, it’s your job to care for them this month.”

“I’ve already told you why this is far more important, Bee! I can’t stop this plan for a moment, and you know it.”

“No, you said ‘this is far more important’, period, you didn’t tell me anything, and I’m tired of it, I want you to tell me exactly what is going on with you.”

“I, uh… Are you completely sure? I don’t want you to get worried.”

“I’m already worried, Tyral, I don’t want you to get yourself into something dangerous.”

“Alright, let me explain then.” Said Tyral, sitting down on Bernielle’s bed, and telling her to do the same.

“When I was back at the Winking Skeever five days ago and met Faenor, he introduced me to a plot, that he and his organization have been planning for years now, to finally put an end to the monarchy in Skyrim.”

“What? Are you joking? How would you do that? Why would you do that?”

“Why? Because all the problems we’ve had for the last decade, all the struggles we face are due to the arrogance and stubbornness of the nobles, and the monarchs, we could solve all magical and mystical issues without a problem if it wasn’t for nobles who put their own interests before those of their people, the dragon crisis would’ve ended sooner if not for the meddling of the civil war and the fight against the Thalmor. How? By taking this city first, proving that the rule of the people will always be better than that of the nobles.”

“Who told you about this? What’s this organization?”

“The Thalmor.”

“…So, just to be clear, the people who killed hundreds of-”

“Hundreds of Talos worshippers, defeated the empire, had control of Skyrim for a long time, I know, I know, trust me, I know. This isn’t them anymore, the Thalmor are our only hope to finally take what’s ours by right, Elisif is not a good queen, there are no good kings, only their advisors can be good, for they are ultimately the ones who make the choices for them.”

“And how would you go about ‘taking’ the city? That sounds extremely difficult and dangerous.”

“I can’t tell you right now, we’re still working on this, all I can say right now is, please, you have to trust me on this, I know it all sounds crazy, but once we fulfill this it’ll all be worth it, and we’ll look back and wonder how we ever lived like this.”

“I don’t trust you on this Tyral, I’m sorry, but it just sounds too ludicrous, you can’t possibly be sure that this will turn out well.”

“I trust Faenor, and he seems to be a very genuine man, which is precisely why I joined him.”

Bernielle sighed, “I don’t know, I can’t stop you from doing anything, but I beg you to please reconsider this, it could end very badly for everyone if you’re not careful, I really care about you, Tyral, and you could very well die at the end of it all.”

“I know that, but if I’m careful, if we pull this off, I promise you I’ll get us the best manor in the city, I’ll get us all the luxuries you want, and more.”

“I don’t want to talk about this any further, Ty, I’m tired and I want to go to bed, but I don’t think handing over our nation to the Aldmeri Dominion is a good idea, I just don’t.”

“Very well, good night, Bee.”

Bernielle laid on her bed, and placed her sheets over herself, her cheek pressed against the pillow looked adorable. Tyral went to his own bed and laid down to sleep, he went over what he had just talked to with Bernielle, and tried to consider everything she told him, he thought about how they were supposed to pull the coup off, he thought about who could be potentially hurt, he thought about what could happen afterwards, if Faenor would keep his word and let the people of Solitude rule themselves, instead of just taking power for himself and the Thalmor, and the Aldmeri Dominion. He thought about how, according to everyone, they had been trying to take over Tamriel for decades, but…

Would it truly be so bad if the Altmer were to rule Tamriel? Thought Tyral. 


	5. Silent Footsteps

A group of 5 people, calling themselves the insurrection, walked about the Solitude docks at twilight, all of them with the intention of getting inside the East Empire warehouse and steal a shipment of foreign weapons, enough to give a sizable mob of people means to defend themselves when the coup happened, leading them was Fidus, an old war veteran, and a commander in the civil war.

When they arrived at the front entrance to the warehouse, a guard stopped them.

“Halt, the warehouse is for company workers only, entering without permission is a crime.”

“Excuse us, young man?” Said Tyral, stepping up to speak with the guard before Fidus could.

“I said the warehouse is-”

“We heard you, whatever do you mean ‘workers only’? What do you take us for? Ordinary peasants?”

The guard was clearly annoyed at the tone Tyral took, but kept a professional tone himself. “Look, I don’t know you, and I’ve never seen you here before, so unless you declare yourself I’m afraid I can’t let you through.”

“Preposterous, look upon this document and say that again.” Tyral handed the guard a piece of parchment, which the former opened and read.

“Lord Tywin of Colovia, Thalmor inspector of cheese in the province of Skyrim.” the guard looked up at Tyral and then back at the parchment, “…you’re Tywin of Colovia then?”

“What, do I not look like a Tywin?” Asked Tyral, looking genuinely offended.

“No, sir. But just what are you doing here, lord, uh, inspector?”

“Why, to inspect your cheese of course, I’m an expert in the field of cheesemaking, I know all about the different types of cheeses, the preparation of cheese, the storing of cheese, did you know that there’s a type of mold that can grow on the wood used on shipbuilding, which can go into the cheese a ship is transporting? I’m here to make sure your cheese isn’t infested with this mold.”

The rest of the group looked at Tyral with disbelief, was he actually going to go through with this?

“And what of your friends, who are they?”

“These, my nord fellow, are my escort, and they will accompany me anywhere I go, in case I ever run into danger during more chaotic situations.”

The guard gave Tyral one final look of total defeat before grunting, “Fine, you may pass, my lord, do make sure our cheese is in mint condition.” Said the guard, handing back the parchment.

“Well, what a nice young man, I’ll forget your previous insult and make sure to tell your superiors of your amiability.” Said Tyral, going into the now open door of the warehouse, the guard had his eyes obscured by his helmet, but Tyral could’ve sworn he saw him rolling his eyes.

“Asshole.” Said the guard, shutting the door behind them.

Now inside the warehouse, the group loosened up a bit, taking off their hats and fake jewelry and leaving it next to the door.

“I could’ve just told him my name and made him open the door, you know, even old veterans like me get more respect than Thalmor these days.” Said Fidus, putting his sword belt around his waist.

“No, the less they know about us the better, if we used any real names we might risk prison, was anything to go wrong.”

“Yeah, speaking of wrong, what was that back there? Why were you such a prick to the guard?” Asked Bolion.

“I think if there ever was a job only a prick would take, it would be cheese inspector, had to stay in character, you know?”

“I was going to ask, why did Feefee give you such a strange profession? Why couldn’t you just be a general inspector, boss?” Asked the mage accompanying the group.

“You can call him Faenor, Ildur, it’s only Feefee when we’re out in the open, besides, some things are just so stupidly specific you have no choice but to believe them.” Ildur shrugged in acceptance.

Going past the entrance to the warehouse, they noticed just how huge the cave they were in was, the air smelled stale and heavy, as if it had been locked there for a very long time. Tall and wide shelves were placed on the sides of the pathway, with all sorts of boxes, crates and barrels on them, some loose items were there too, ready for the taking. A mercenary in leather armor, hired by the insurrection, attempted to take some of the seemingly more valuable items.

“Onthus, don’t, we’re not here for that.” Said Ildur, grabbing Onthus’s wrist.

“Aw, come on, it’s just a necklace, and it’s just sitting here collecting dust, what good is it then?”

“We’re already going to get in enough trouble as it is with this, we don’t need to risk pissing off even more people by stealing their belongings.”

Onthus sighed, “Alright, but I want to keep one of the swords.” He took the necklace as soon as Ildur stopped looking.

As they were walking, footsteps could be heard coming from straight ahead, Tyral put his hand up, “Wait, I think someone’s coming, get behind the shelves, now.”

The group did as Tyral said, and they waited to see who was coming, after a few moments, an orc stepped up to where they were standing, and began checking the crates on the shelves, Tyral was careful as to not make sound, but he stuck his head out to see just who they were dealing with, and it was Gulabash. What in oblivion did that green log want? And why was he checking the crates? Tyral thought.

Suddenly, a voice came out from another side of the pathway, a guard was heading towards Gulabash.

“Hello sir! I wasn’t expecting to see you, what brings you here?” Said the guard, approaching Gulabash and shaking his hand.

“Oh, Hraki, please, don’t address me so formally, my promotion doesn’t mean we can’t speak like friends anymore,” Exclaimed Gulabash, patting the guard on the shoulder. “I’m just here on palace business, queen Elisif has asked us to double the storage of grain and wine; so, how have you been? How’s the family going?”

“Well, you know, the usual, kids giving me quite the headache sometimes, but they’re just so adorable I can’t complain.” Said the guard named Hraki.

Now, Tyral didn’t have a clear track of time, because they were in a cave and there really wasn’t any other way of counting time passing without the sun, but he calculated that the conversation between Gulabash and Hraki lasted for approximately too fucking long.

“Akatosh almighty, do these guys not have jobs?” Said Tyral before realizing he spoke out loud, fortunately it seemed the two speakers thought they were three miles away from each other, given the volume of their voices.

“This is taking too long, can’t we like, kill them or something, boss?” Asked Onthus.

“NO, we can’t kill them, nobody can die here, if they do they’ll look into this even further, a missing crate is one thing, but murder is definitely not taken lightly.”

“Then how do we get rid of them?”

“I know! Ildur, you said you can use telekinesis, right?” Asked Fidus.

“I… kind of know it, yeah.”

“So why don’t you just push the crate the orc is checking over the edge, so he’ll have to catch it?” Fidus motioned the crate falling and pointed at Gulabash.

“I can try, give me a second.”

Ildur began to move her arms about in an almost comical sort of way, unsure of which position to take in order to make the spell work, until she locked herself in a very specific position, taking deep slow breaths.

“I got it.” She said, smirking.

A flow of magicka could be seen moving about Ildur’s arms, and a flash of light appeared where the orc was standing. Hraki was in the middle of describing his daughter’s latest snowberry pie when a small flame appeared on the crate full of supplies Gulabash was checking.

“Oh shit! Quick, get me a cloth or something!” Exclaimed the orc.

“I- I- I don’t have any here!”

“Oh, to oblivion with it.” Said Gulabash, spitting on his palm and putting it over the flame, a sizzling sound was heard, he winced at this.

“Oh, gods, that orc is tough as shit.” Said Onthus.

“Divines above, are you okay, Gulabash?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it, I just wonder where in Malacath this fire came from, I don’t see any candles nearby.”

Tyral turned pale at the possibility of being caught, if tampering with royal beverages was considered treason, breaking into an imperial warehouse and injuring the royal guard’s captain was definitely worse, way worse.

“Maybe an ember from the torches landed all the way here? It has happened before.” Hraki explained.

“Maybe, bah, I should call the rest of the boys to take these to the palace, I’ll be carrying this one for now, see you in an hour, Hraki.”

“See you, captain.” Hraki waved goodbye, before going back to his patrol.

The group waited until the guard was far enough to leave their hiding spots, and sighed in relief at not being caught.

“Alright, guys, we have an hour until the place is filled with even more guards, we got to find the weapon’s crate quickly.” Tyral said.

Moving forward, the insurrection made sure to check they weren’t being followed, and listened attentively for any sounds that could be heard, though the only noises filling the silent cave were the ones of drops of water hitting the ground, of slow and silky waves touching wood and stone, and the muffled voices of guards speaking to each other in different parts of the warehouse.

When it seemed like there was a guard getting close, the group would hide behind crates and barrels, for mere moments or minutes at a time. When they reached the shelf that Tsijarr described, the one with three levels, they noticed three crates that looked exactly like where the khajiit had said they’d find the weapons.

“Alright, we found the weapons, now what?” Asked Fidus, placing his ear on the crate, for what purpose no one knows, maybe to check the swords’ heartbeat wasn’t too slow.

“We have to take them and put them on the boat Tsijarr’s going to hijack, it should be arriving any minute now.” 

The whole group started to push the unsurprisingly heavy crates on the floor, which were also surprisingly difficult to drag silently, though they tried. Tyral and Bolion pushed one, Onthus and Ildur pushed one, and Fidus pushed one by himself. Now it was particularly hard to hide when a guard came close, as they had to also put the crates on the shelves they were hiding in, though fortunately it went relatively smoothly the first two times. The third time wasn’t so smooth.

They were pushing, their faces red from the effort, sweat dripped down their chins into the crates, Onthus was clenching his teeth so hard they looked like they’d crack, Ildur’s soul had left clearly left her body, it now a shell of agony and despair, Fidus’s veins looked like they were about to pop out of his forehead, Tyral’s arms went numb and still felt pain at the same time somehow, Bolion looked fine.

Suddenly, footsteps came from behind them, and the insurrection quickly began to do the whole process of shelving and hiding once again, except that Fidus became far too exhausted to do anything, and Bolion had to drag him into hiding before the guard could get there.

“Ildur, use your gods damned telekinesis and put the crate on the shelf now!” Tyral screamed silently.

“Okay, okay, I really got it this time.” Said Ildur, once again moving her arms, though this time there was not as much stuttering or awkward movement.

“Huh, that’s strange, is that a crate-” Began to say the guard.

Ildur opened her hand in a dramatic notion and the crate went straight for the approaching guard, knocking him out instantly.

“Oh shit,” Said Tyral, going to check if the guard was alive, “oh thank the gods, he’s alive.”

The guard was out cold, though he seemed to be in a stable condition.

“At least you did the right spell this time, archmage.” Teased Onthus.

“Oh fuck off.” Said Ildur, prompting Onthus to chortle.

“Okay, what to do…” Said Tyral, “Fidus, hand me one of those candlesticks.” Tyral gestured toward a silver candlestick on the shelf they were just hiding in.

Fidus did just that, and Tyral placed the candlestick about a meter away from the guard.

The large gate that lead to the outside slowly began to open, and a medium sized boat entered the warehouse, with a characteristic red flag flying above, meaning this was Tsijarr’s ship.

“Great, there he is, we’re almost done here.”

The group pushed the crates just a few more meters, before finally arriving at a ramp leading to Tsijarr’s boat, where the khajiit could be seen standing and waiting.

“Ah, there you are friend, quickly now, push the crates over and we will meet at the lighthouse.” Tsijarr remarked.

“On it.”

Pushing the crates over to the boat, the group heard two voices coming from where the guard had been struck by the crate.

“Holy mother of Lorkhan, what happened to him?” Exclaimed one of the guards checking on their comrade.

“It looks like this candlestick fell from the shelf and hit him on the head pretty bad,” said the other guard, putting the knocked-out guard’s arm over his shoulder, “we should take him to the barracks.”

“Wait, so a candlestick just fell on him out of nowhere?”

“No, I just said it came from the shelf.”

“Even if it came from the shelf, how did it knock him out if he’s wearing a helmet? And why is he bruised?”

“I’m not a fucking physician, man, I read once that even a coin could kill you if it fell from the right distance.”

“Where did you read that?”

“I don’t keep tabs on every single piece of literature I encounter, Finn.” Said the guard, carrying the injured guard out of the scene.

The conversation lasted for long enough so that the rest of the crates were now on Tsijarr’s boat. With everything set, the insurrection got off the boat and thanked Tsijarr.

“No problem, friends, remember, we meet at 1 in the morning at the lighthouse.

And with that, the boat began leaving the warehouse just as quickly as it had come, the group went back to the entrance of the warehouse and placed all their fancy clothes over themselves before they exited. Tyral went to open the door before stopping himself and remembering his character. He knocked on the door. The same guard that had let them in was standing next to it, the same aura of contempt still around him.

“Good evening, or morning, lord inspector, was the cheese of a high enough quality for your clearly superior palate?” Asked the guard.

“No, but it’s not infested with mold, so it’ll have to do.” Replied Tyral, looking at his fingernails as if they had just been manicured and were not covered in dirt.

“Great.” Muttered the guard.

“Now, if you’ll excuse my friends and I, we must attend a fancy bowl.” Said Tyral as he waved the guard goodbye without even looking at him.

“Sure thing, asshole.” Once again muttered the guard.

The group hired a rowboat to get to the lighthouse and left the docks, relieved that they all came out of the ordeal alive, with only one person suffering a concussion. Fidus tried to explain the difference between a ball and a bowl to Tyral on the way to the lighthouse, though he didn’t seem to understand, or maybe he didn’t want to.

When they arrived and paid the boatman the appropriate sum, Tsijarr’s boat was not there yet, so they waited for another half an hour before the red-flagged ship came from over the mists of the sea of ghosts. The insurrection got on the boat to check the cargo, and to see what they’d like to keep for themselves.

They opened one crate and the unmistakable gleam of metal blades from the moonlight hit their faces, these were indeed weapons.

“Nice, these look like…” Onthus grabbed a sword from the pile, “hey wait a minute, this isn’t steel, this is iron.”

“What? Let me see.” Fidus grabbed an axe from the pile and inspected it closely, “Indeed, this is iron, and not very good iron at that.”

“Wait, seriously?” Tyral opened the rest of the crates, to find an assortment of rusted iron weapons and some other tools. “What the fuck, Tsijarr? You told me these would be fine silver and steel, this is all iron, bad iron, and these aren’t even weapons, these are hammers and saws!” Tyral took some pincers out of the third crate.

“I- Tsijarr swears he did not know! I was told these weapons would arrive today, are you sure you took the crates I told you to take?”

“Hell yes we did! You told us they’d look exactly like these ones, so either you lied to us, or you just got a really bad informant.” Said Onthus.

“I doubt Tsijarr would lie to us, he knows what’s at stake here, we don’t have much time left, these weapons must be in the hands of the first wave of people by Fredas, the longer we take doing this the larger the chances of being caught get.”

The rest of the group was silent, though it was clear that there was no wish to object to this notion.

“So, what do we do now?” Asked Ildur.

“Now, you all go home, I’ll inform Faenor of where we’re at, we’ll make our move on Fredas, like I said, then we take the city and wait for the Thalmor council.” Tyral looked at the rest of his group in confirmation. “You will know when it’s time to move, stay cautious, keep a low profile and don’t do anything until we’re all together again, is that okay?” Everyone nodded.

“Good, let’s all go rest, we’ll need it.”

The night air was cold, and it pierced through Tyral’s skin to touch his bones, waves went back and forth through the coast, and the embers of the lighthouse fire flew away into the night sky. Somewhere on the steps of the Throat of the World, the cold night air entered through a window, and a man with sleek black hair woke up in a sweat, panting and with fear on his face, Solitude was in danger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good day, everyone, I apologize if the reading so far has seemed to be dragging on, with this chapter I hope to finally finish the introduction and get into the good stuff, cheers!


	6. A Real Treachery

_Blue Palace, 12:22 pm, 26 th of Rain’s Hand, 218 4E._

Queen Elisif felt the rays of the sun touch her cheek, it felt as hot as fire, she quickly sat up and removed her hair from her face and looked at the clock on her desk, it was past noon. She had been waking up past noon for over a month now, she had to tell Falk to wake her up earlier, even if she got angry at him, she thought.

Her handmaids came into the room as soon as she called, and began dressing her up for the court business of the day, they asked what she wanted to eat for breakfast, or, lunch.

“Bread and butter is fine, my dear, I’ll be down by the dining room in a minute.”

“Yes, your majesty, I’ll go tell the chef right away.” Said one of the maidens, leaving the room.

When she was all dressed, Elisif went to put on her crown, which laid under a portrait of her late husband. When she looked at his face, she could almost feel his hand touching her cheek at night, when she would wake up sweating and in tears, him telling her that it was all going to be alright, brushing her hair away, kissing her, she could see his smile the day she told him she was pregnant, the way he lift her up and carefully put her back down, how they awaited their child’s arrival with excitement, how he would say this child would be the most beautiful in the realm.

The fond and warm memories faded away when she saw the crown, a beautiful golden crown with incrusted jewels that brought her nothing but pain, nothing but agony since the day the love of her life was pierced through the heart in front of her by the sword of a man who dared claim this crown for himself, a man who dared to label her husband a traitor, a man who went to war and killed thousands of innocents for a crown Elisif didn’t want; but she knew that leaving the crown, letting that vile man sit on the throne of Skyrim meant her child would never be safe, Ulfric would forever see it as a threat to his power, so she did what she had to do.

Elisif had no knowledge of military strategy, she had no interest in statistics or expenses, and she had no intention of being a piece of propaganda, but she had something else, something she thought was far more important, counsel, trustworthy people who her husband trusted deeply, people who she knew would make the best of what they had, who would see to it that the traitor’s head was put on display outside Castle Dour, and she had a raging fury inside her, whether this was her mother’s instinct telling her to do whatever she had to do to protect her child, grief from watching her husband die, or a combination of the two she did not know.

And so, with the help of her court, and two other allies, one a brilliant general sent by the emperor himself to lead the legions into battle with the traitors, and the other a mythical being with enough power to kill a dragon forever, she managed to see just what she wanted, the traitor’s head rotting on a spike outside Castle Dour.

And yet, now, with all this almost fifteen years behind her, she more than ever felt the void her husband left in her.

She placed the crown over her head, it felt heavier than the day before, and walked down to the throne room, where, Erikur, Bryling and Margna were all standing by. Elisif greeted everyone and everyone bowed back, she sat on her throne and spoke up.

“I’ve noticed Falk isn’t here, do any of you have a notion of where he could be?”

“My queen, Falk hasn’t worked as your steward for three years now.” Explained Erikur.

“Ah, yes, of course, forgive me, I have a tendency to forget things.”

“I understand, my queen.”

“So, do we have any news? Any business I should look into?” Asked Elisif.

“Well, Dragonbridge has once again asked for royal aid with the dragon issue,” said Margna, looking over notes she was holding, “and more rumors of revolt have been running around the city, though nothing of note has happened yet.”

“Dragonbridge? Again? Didn’t we build barracks there for this exact reason? So they could go to them for aid?”

“We did, your majesty, but they insist this matter is too serious for the… less than optimally trained troops stationed there.”

“Alright, send word to the mayor, tell him I’ll speak with captain Aldis to see if there are any men available for the job.”

“Will do, my queen.”

“And Erikur? Tell the farmers we’ll be taking five percent more of their grain than usual until these rumors of revolt die down, will you.”

“Of course, though, what about Blaise’s farm, your majesty? The property owes 2,950 septims in crops and taxes still, and we’ve confiscated three items from the farmhouse, shall I raise their debt too?”

“Until they pay their due amount, yes, and make the guards confiscate one more item for every week that passes with no payment.”

“I’d like to speak to you further about this later, in private, your majesty, but I’ll do as you order for now.”

Elisif got up from her throne, “If that is all for now, I’d like to go and eat breakfast, if you’ll excuse me.” The court bowed once again.

On her way down the stairs to the dining room, Elisif encountered her son, unexpectedly.

“Angal? What are you doing here? I thought you were taking history lessons at this hour.”

“Ah, hello mom, mother, mother dearest, I’m uh, I am, I just came back here to grab my notebook, which I left in my chambers, because I forgot it, and I must get it back.” Said Angal, smiling.

“Isn’t that your notebook on your hip?” Elisif pointed at the notebook on Angal’s belt.

“Oh, right, there it is.”

“So I guess you can go back to class now, hmm? Unless you want me to think you’re skipping your lessons, young man?”

“Of course not, mother, I’ll go back immediately,” Angal began to turn around to go back to the library, where a tutor was waiting to teach him about the war of the three diamonds, or whatever it was called, Angal wondered why there was so many wars and why people didn’t just number them instead of giving them silly, hard to remember names, “I’ll see you later mother.” Angal turned fully around and a toy soldier could be seen being held in his hand. Elisif didn’t point this out, she found his fondness to his old toys quite adorable.

Loud voices could be heard coming from outside the palace, probably some homeless drunk arguing with the guards.

Elisif arrived at the dining room and sat down, a plate of bread and decorated butter was in front of her. One of her handmaidens lit up a candle on the table and spoke.

“There you go, your majesty, unsalted butter, as you like it.”

“Thank you, you’re dismissed, I’d like to eat alone.”

The maiden bowed and left Elisif to eat by herself, in the empty dining room. There was a certain beauty in eating alone, nothing but the sound of fresh bread crumbling and the softness of butter being spread, it was certainly lonely, but eating with others made her feel like she had yet another responsibility, to eat delicately, to leave no crumbs and take small bites, now she could eat as she pleased, with no one to judge and stare.

Except it wasn’t as perfect as usual, the voices coming from outside the palace became louder, almost yelling, and there were now more of them, it was getting annoying.

As she was about to take a sip of wine, the door to the palace opened loudly and abruptly. Gulabash, the captain of the royal guard entered quickly and went over to the throne room. He spoke in-between pants, and in certain panic. What could make such a big and quite scary orc panic? Elisif thought. She left her food as it was and went to the throne room as well, where everyone was talking to Gulabash now.

“What on earth is going on? What’s happened, captain?” Elisif asked Gulabash.

“It’s the townsfolk, your majesty, they’re revolting!” Uttered Gulabash.

Color left Elisif’s face.

_Blaise’s Farm, 11:02 am, 26 th of Rain’s Hand, 218 4E._

“What?! Dragonbridge?” Asked Bernielle, incredulously.

“Yes, and take Blaise with you, I can’t let either of you get involved in this, I’ll go get both of you once this is all done.” Tyral replied, putting his hand over Bernielle’s.

She quickly pulled her hand away, “No, fuck off, Tyral, I won’t just leave you here, I can’t, I need to make sure you’re okay.”

“And I need to make sure _you’re_ okay, this is a coup, I can’t let you be in that much danger, I’d never forgive myself if you got hurt.”

“Oh, right, because you’re the great warrior here, I may not know how to fight well but neither do you, don’t fool yourself just because that elf bastard chose you to lead this suicide mission.”

“I am right here, you know.” Faenor pointed out.

“You shut up; you’ve brought nothing but trouble since Tyral met you.” Said Bernielle.

“Maybe so, Bee, but if either of us has to die today, I’d much rather it be me than you.”

“What in oblivion makes you think that’s comforting to me?! I don’t want you to die, and if we’re both there I know we can work better together, neither of us has to die.”

“If we don’t do this, the guards will come and start taking our home piece by piece, even if I stay here and do nothing, we’ll all be homeless, Bee.”

“I’d much rather be homeless with you than live in the finest manor because you died for me.”

“I know, my dear, I just…”

“Tyral, we’ve no time for this, if we’re to do this we must do it today, right now,” Faenor took his bag and placed it over his shoulder, “I’m sorry Bernielle, but he has to leave now, you two will have to make up your mind.”

“I’m sorry, Bee, I can’t let you, go with Faenor, he’ll take you and Blaise to Dragonbridge, stay there and I’ll be back before you know it.” Said Tyral, grabbing the sword he had chosen from the pile of weapons he’d be taking to the city now.

“Tyral… if you do need to go now, I must say I… I love you.” Muttered Bernielle, gazing away, her face turning red.

“I… love you too, Bee.”

They shared a kiss, and for a moment everything seemed to slow down, only they existed for that second, and only they mattered, Bernielle’s soft lips felt had a sweet taste to them, and they felt like rose petals, Tyral’s scruffy beard itched Bernielle, but she didn’t mind, the world seemed all the more beautiful, and Tyral knew now he actually had something to fight for. The beautiful world created by their kiss was destroyed by the voice of Faenor, though time seemed to slow down, it also didn’t feel like it lasted long enough.

“Aw, lovely, we need to go now.”

“Right, I’ll be seeing you, Bernielle, goodbye.”

“But-” Bernielle began to say, before being dragged away by Faenor, “I can walk on my own, you idiot.”

“Of course, I’m sorry, I just expected you to resist a little more.” Said Faenor, looking down.

Tyral had placed all the weapons he’d be carrying on the wagon, and covered them with a bedsheet, he pushed the road into the cart and swiftly walked up, waving goodbye at his newfound love.

Bernielle looked at Tyral one last time, and felt terrible at the notion of losing him to a pointless conflict, she stood where she was for what felt like minutes, looking as Tyral disappeared behind the pines. Faenor looked at her and smirked.

“You’re going after him, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am.”

“Well then, I must give you this,” Faenor handed Bernielle a golden dagger, with the wings of an eagle carved on its handle, “it’s a dagger I was given when I became a justiciar, we’re all handed one, I want you to have it.”

“It’s… very pretty, thank you.”

“No need, you’re a good friend, and Tyral does seem to like you a whole lot.”

“So where are you going now?”

“I’ll be heading to the embassy and tell the other Thalmor about the situation, once we’re all set we’ll come here and help the insurrection with administrative manners while they choose a new leader.”

“And what of Blaise?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about him, where is he?”

“He’s down by the docks from what I heard.”

“Right, then there shouldn’t be trouble, go and meet him after you check on Tyral, he can decide where to go from there, though I suggest he leaves the city if he dislikes conflict.”

“Alright, take care, Feefee.” Jokingly said Bernielle.

“Haha, seriously though don’t call me that.”

With that, the elf mounted his horse and went down the road towards Dragonbridge, which also led to the Thalmor embassy. Bernielle went up the road slowly, thinking about what could happen once she passed through the gates, would Tyral be killed before he could even gather a group of people? Could it even be possible to defeat the guards and all the soldiers within the city?

Bernielle didn’t like Solitude, she thought it was too big and too crowded, the closed walls made her feel trapped, and the smell of sewage made her gag, cities were too much of everything to be enjoyable, she didn’t understand how anyone would like to live in one, even if it did offer more protection than a farm, or even a village.

When she finally reached the gates, she said hello to the guard stationed there, but he didn’t seem to notice her, so she said hello once again.

“Huh? Oh, hello, good day, and you’re…?”

“Bernielle, I used to come here with Tyral, to audition for the bards college?” She introduced herself.

“Oh right, right, Tyral’s girlfriend, yeah I remember you, sorry if I seem intrusive but is everything alright with him?”

This question perturbed Bernielle, “I think so? Why?”

“It’s just that, I just saw him, and he said I should get out while I can and to not ask questions, I think he’s a nice guy, so I’m just concerned is all.”

“Right, well, I don’t know, honestly, but I need to enter.”

“Of course, I’ll let you in.” Said the guard, as he opened the city gates.

Bernielle looked at the city, and, for the first time ever she saw what Tyral had so many times said, not a cramped stone tomb, or a filthy swamp of sewage, but a thriving city, with people going about their quaint lives, children playing in the streets, stone towers that touched the sky. Maybe it was because she feared everything good the city had to offer would be lost once this “movement” happened, maybe the prospect of only the bad remaining made Bernielle appreciate the good all the more.

There was no sign of Tyral or of a fight anywhere, which probably meant he was still getting people to follow him into this mission, she looked everywhere but did not find him, until a loud voice that cut through the chattering of the townsfolk like a hot knife through butter, someone was yelling, and it was coming from Castle Dour, Bernielle heard the sounds of metal hitting metal, and more yells coming from people in pain and people fighting, the sounds of battle had begun.

People stopped what they were doing to listen at the commotion, some went directly towards the noise with daggers and maces in hand, Bernielle was about to go and see for herself, not prepared for whatever was happening over the stairs leading to the castle. Suddenly, she felt something tugging at her pants. She looked down and saw a hand touching her, and immediately jumped back in horror.

“Akatosh almighty! What the fuck?”

“Hey, calm down, I’m a friend,” Said the hand, which upon closer inspection looked to be coming out of a sewer. The manhole opened a bit more to reveal the face of a young blonde woman wearing a hood, “my name is Ildur, I’m a friend of Tyral, come inside, quickly.”

Bernielle hesitated to enter the sewer, but the group of guards approaching and the growing crowd over Castle Dour left her little choice, so she jumped into the smelly hole. When she entered, she saw a bedroll and a small campfire, as well as a chest, a man wearing leather armor was sitting down on the bedroll, reading a book.

Ildur sat down next to him, and Bernielle stood next to the campfire, with a million questions in her mind, and a thousand concerns more. The sounds of tapping and footsteps were coming from above, from where Bernielle had just been standing. She began her inquiries by asking the basics.

“So, who are you guys?”

Before Ildur could answer, the man reading closed the book and answered for her, “My name is Onthus, and I’m what you’d call an early-retired sellsword.”

“And like I said, I’m Ildur, I’m a mage.” Replied Ildur.

“ _Aspiring_ mage, you know as much about magic as I know about reading.” Onthus interjected.

“Okay, could you shut up for a minute so I can talk to Bernielle? Thanks.”

“How do you two know Tyral? How long have you known him?”

“About two weeks now, he hired us to be part of the insurrection.”

“The… insurrection?” Asked Bernielle.

“It’s what he calls our band of five.” Answered Onthus.

“We’re gonna help him overthrow the queen.”

“Uh huh, so do you live here or…?”

“Oh, no, he lives here, I’m just here because I wanted to make sure you were okay if you came, Tyral should be up there gathering the crowds by now.”

“About that, so why aren’t you up there now? I’m assuming that fighting going on is part of his plan.”

“He told us to look for you, in case you showed up here, he told us to keep you in here until he came to pick us all up.”

“Oh, so he thinks I’ll just stay here while he’s out there getting himself in danger even though I came all the way here precisely because I didn’t want to go to Dragonbridge? Well if either of you thinks you can stop me from going out there and helping my boyfriend out you’re oh so wrong.” Said Bernielle, taking the ladder up to the street again.

“Wait, boyfriend? Are you two together?” Asked Ildur.

“Also I’m not gonna try and stop you if that’s what you’re thinking, this is very captivating literature indeed.” Said Onthus without looking up from his book.

“It’s Kolb and the Dragon, Onthus, not Effects of the Elder Scrolls, calm down.”

Bernielle blushed and answered, “Uh, I think? He sort of kissed me earlier so I’m assuming he wants to… Nevermind that, I still need to check what’s going on. I don’t hear as much tapping as before so maybe the fighting has died down.” And die down it did.

Bernielle went up the ladder and opened the manhole, the sounds of footsteps were gone, and the yelling seemed a lot more distant now, she got up and looked around, there seemed to be a crowd of people over by the entrance. She went over there and Ildur followed her, there was someone saying something very loudly, people were agreeing at what this person was saying, getting closer, it became clear the voice was Tyral’s. There were several corpses lying on the ground, most of them guards, Bernielle got next to the crowd of people as Tyral finished what sounded like some sort of inspiring speech.

“…And so, on this day we shall take Solitude, tomorrow we take the country, and after that, the whole world shall know that the rule of the people is the only true rule! For today, I hold in my hand the sword of a man who rose above everyone, who didn’t need a fancy hereditary title to be great, who went above and beyond to save this country of the tyranny of a fake and demented king, today I hold in my hand the sword of general Xaessar Tullius! Crownbreaker!!”

The crowd erupted in applause and cheer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good day, everyone, I know this chapter is up very early, but I finished writing it on Thursday and I couldn't wait to publish it and start writing the next one, so I'll do it now, the next chapter will come out on Wednesday as usual, cheers!


	7. The Ambassador

Would it be inaccurate to describe Faenor’s plan as disorganized, maybe even chaotic? No, but I’d argue the best way to describe it would be as a cluster of somewhat related ideas and events sewn together by a drunk dog. This didn’t bother Tyral or his followers too much, however, as they had gotten through the first part of the plan with only one of them dead; they forced their way into Castle Dour and took all they could from inside, mostly better weapons than rusty hammers and broken hoes.

Tyral looked at a sword displayed over a chimney, it had a black blade, with prickly points sticking out of the handle, it seemed to glow red, as if it was on a very light fire, Tyral asked one of the defeated guards about the blade, and he found out that this sword was named Crownbreaker, and it belonged to general Tullius during the civil war, this was the blade that pierced Ulfric Stormcloak’s heart and ended the rebellion, the sword that was given to the Dragonborn as a gift by Tullius, the sword that was put on display in the halls of Sjel Blad.

Tyral didn’t hesitate to take it, though he noticed it was far heavier than he expected, the handle had a very specific shape that hurt Tyral’s hand when he didn’t hold it properly. Overall, a very nice sword, probably the best sword he’d ever hold, ever. He expected others to try and take it, but they were too busy looking over shiny trinkets and golden ornaments to notice the dark blade right in front of them.

After they got what they wanted out of the castle, the crowd went to the execution block and got bigger as more people wanted to see what was going on, some were horrified by the sight of corpses and ran away to their homes, but others stayed and listened to what Tyral had to say. Don’t ask me what he did say, because even if you asked him he’d probably tell you he forgot, it wasn’t the content of the speech that mattered, he sputtered some bull about the country, about the monarchy, about how only the people could rule themselves, about how kings and emperors would divide the continent, it sounds interesting when I say it like this but even Bolion thought it was boring, and he liked boring.

It was the way in which Tyral said it, the passion in his words, the way in which he looked at everyone, making them feel included that made everyone listen to him, everyone cheered and agreed with Tyral, and he declared the last part of his speech with particular zeal, so much so that that’s the part everyone remembers, it went something like this:

“…And so, on this day we shall take Solitude, tomorrow we take the country, and after that, the whole world shall know that the rule of the people is the only true rule! For today, I hold in my hand the sword of a man who rose above everyone, who didn’t need a fancy hereditary title to be great, who went above and beyond to save this country of the tyranny of a fake and demented king, today I hold in my hand the sword of general Xaessar Tullius! Crownbreaker!!”

As he uttered the last word, he looked at the corners of the crowd, and saw a familiar face among them, Bernielle was standing there, listening to his speech, it made him feel warm to know she was there, but then he felt anger as he remembered what he had told her.

“Now, my friends, to the Blue Palace!” Tyral pointed the sword to where he remembered the Blue Palace was, and the mob went ahead.

Tyral got off from the stage that held the execution block and approached Bernielle, Fidus and Bolion were by his side. “Hey! What on oblivion are you doing? I told you to take Blaise and head to Dragonbridge!”

“Well, technically I am taking Blaise, he’s at the docks and I’ve come to find him, also, I told you, I won’t just leave you here, I want to help you!” Replied Bernielle.

“Wait, what? Blaise is at the docks? I thought he was at the farm.”

“No, he was selling a horse to the Vici family, didn’t he tell you?”

“Oh shit, we have to go fetch him, I didn’t tell him anything about today.”

“What?! Why?”

“Because I thought you’d take him to Dragonbridge!” Tyral put his hands over his face and groaned, “Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do, Fidus, Bolion, go with the crowd over to the Blue Palace and make sure they don’t start killing each other; Bee, you and I are going to the docks to see if Blaise is still there and then you’ll both stay with Ildur and Onthus.”

Not wanting to go through the whole argument again, Bernielle agreed and everyone headed to their destinations. Fidus started yelling something at the crowd outside Blue Palace, or at the guards, it was unclear.

When they reached the stairway to the docks, they noticed another crowd of people breaking into the shops, they were coming out with bags of gold and other valuables around them. Bernielle saw Minette Vinius moving around nervously, careful not to get involved in the chaos, suddenly a man grabbed her by the waist and began taking her away, she was wailing around and hitting the man’s arms in an attempt to break free.

“What the fuck? Minette!” Shouted Bernielle, running off towards the crowd.

Tyral tried to grab Bernielle’s arm, but missed by one second, “Hey! Where are you going? We have to get Blaise!”

“Go get him, I’m going to help Minette, wait for me!”

Bernielle got into the crowd, which had grown a lot since she last looked, it looked like every citizen of Solitude was trying to either get as many free valuables as possible, or to just get the hell away from the crowds. She followed the man who had taken Minette, and he found him and Minette in an alley, next to Angeline’s Aromatics.

The man was still holding Minette, and he turned to face Bernielle.

“This ain’t any of your business, lady, go away” Said the man.

“Let go of my friend, right now, or I’ll gut you like a cod.” Bernielle didn’t really know how to gut a fish, but it sounded cool in her head.

“What, with that tiny butter knife? Nah, this is a real weapon right here.” The man took out an iron mace, and placed it over Minette’s head, “You get close, however, and this whore gets her brains caved in.”

“Don’t you dare call her a whore! She’s not even done anything to you!”

“Hasn’t she? She called the guards on me! I got kicked out my favorite tavern forever cause I was ‘loitering’, or some shit.”

Bernielle got increasingly fed up with the guy, so she took out her dagger and pointed it at him, “Last warning, let her go, right now and I won’t tell my friends about this.”

“Oh, that’s a nice little dagger right there, too elfy for me but it’s sure to fetch a nice price for-” The man began to say, but he was interrupted by Minette’s elbow hitting his ear, the man let go of Minette and stumbled back disoriented.

“Aie! You bitch!”

Bernielle went to stab the man with her dagger, she was met with a mace to the face. Fortunately the actual mace, as in the metal part, missed her by about a millimeter, and she was instead hit with the handle. Bernielle felt incredible pain in her jaw, and saw that a tooth had fallen out of her mouth. Enraged, she swung the dagger at the man’s neck, he tried to hit her again, but she dodged and quickly pushed the blade into the man’s throat, warm blood rushed down his jacket and into her hands; Bernielle felt the mace hit her once again, in the back, and though it did hurt, it felt substantially weaker than the first hit, she swung the dagger away, exposing the rest of the man’s neck to the light, and he fell down, clutching the wound and trying to breathe.

“Oh, gods above, thank you!” Said Minette, hugging Bernielle.

“Are you okay, Minnie? Did he hurt you at all?” Bernielle asked.

“No, my hip hurts a little, but he did drag me away, what about you? Did he hit you?”

“He did, but I think I dodged the worst of it, my jaw hurts like oblivion, but I think I’ll manage,” Bernielle checked to see if her jaw was broken, it wasn’t, she could still talk, but it didn’t feel right, “so what was that about? Did you call the guards on him?”

“Of course I did, but not for ‘loitering’, he was insulting my brother, and he tried to start a fight in the tavern, I had to do something.”

“Right. We should probably get moving, this coup is starting to look more like a riot.”

“This what?”

“Nevermind that, where are your father and your brother?”

“They should still be in the tavern, I was outside because I had to speak with Erikur about…” Minette said, before being interrupted by the sound of shouting and fighting coming from the crowd, it looked like people were starting to fight each other now.

“I’ll take you there, come on.” Bernielle guided Minette through the crowd, people were actually fighting each other, over what, she didn’t know, but it seemed everyone had gone mad.

They reached the Winking Skeever, and Bernielle knocked on the door.

A male voice answered, “Whoever’s out there, don’t even try to barge in, the doors are reinforced with magical steel and they won’t open!”

Minette stepped up to the door and knocked louder, “Sorex, for Zenithar’s sake, it’s your sister, open the door.”

The door opened and a man with a black beard and tanned skin stuck his head out.

“Minette! Thank the gods, we thought you were done for!” Said Sorex, as he let Minette inside. “You too, come inside, quickly.”

Minette immediately called for her father, and went to hug him when she found him, Sorex closed the door and locked it too. When they all caught their breaths, the older Vinius sibling asked:

“Well, I’m guessing you brought my sister here, so I thank you, who are you?”

“My name’s Bernielle, I’m part of the…” she hesitated for a moment, was it wise to immediately involve herself with the chaos outside?, “the insurrection.”

“The what?”

“The insurrection, we’re the group that’s taking Solitude from the monarchy and giving it back to the people.”

Sorex frowned, “So you’re the one behind this? Do you even realize what you’ve done? You’ve started a riot, and if the guards aren’t here to restore order-”

“She saved me, Sorex,” Minette interjected, “she’s my friend, I may not know what’s happening outside but at least give her a chance to explain herself first.” 

“Ah, indeed. Girl, we beg you, you must tell us whatever’s going on outside, why and how.” Said the eldest of the Vinius, Corpulus.

“Alright, but I can’t promise that what I’m telling you is the full story, I’m just as lost as you are about some things.” Bernielle sat down and started explaining. “About four weeks ago my- my friend Tyral, who works down by Blaise’s farm with me, met with a strange character in this very tavern.”

“Tyral… that’s the funny-looking young man who comes here for ale every fortnight, isn’t he?” Asked Corpulus.

“That’s him, he met with an agent of the Thalmor, who claimed to have this plan to take back Solitude from the monarchy and give it back to those who deserve it, in this case the people.”

“Just Solitude? Seems very risky to take one city and leave it at that.” Said Sorex.

“I’m not sure if it’s just the city they were plotting to take, or the entire country, maybe all of Tamriel.”

“So this is another one of the Thalmor’s attempts to take control of the province… humph, should’ve guessed it.” Muttered Corpulus.

“Like I said, I don’t know all the details, I just know that apparently these are not the same Thalmor who were involved in the civil war fifteen years ago.”

Bernielle went on to explain what Tyral had been doing, how they were planning and what she had overheard; when she reached the part where Tyral actually started the coup, she realized she had forgotten to go back with Tyral to find Blaise by the docks.

“Oh gods! I must find Ty-” Bernielle said, before a knock on the door made her silent.

Everyone stood still, Sorex was about to yell out again, but Minette shut his mouth. A few moments passed before a voice stood out against the shouting and rioting outside.

“I CAN’T OPEN DOORS WITH MAGIC, OKAY? I’ll just talk to them. Hello? Is anyone in there?” Ildur’s voice sounded from the other side of the door.

“Ildur!” Said Bernielle, before unlocking and opening up the door. Standing in front of her were Ildur, Tyral and Blaise, who seemed to be bleeding from the forehead.

“Hello, my love, I found Blaise.” Tyral said, holding Blaise by the arm, he then sat him down on a chair when the doors were closed once again.

“Oh Akatosh, what happened to him?” Asked Bernielle.

“I’m… not sure, I was by the docks, when suddenly these guys start coming down the steps, yelling about the Blue Palace and ‘going up’, suddenly the guards started shooting arrows and throwing rocks! Gods, I don’t know what happened then, I just remember Tyral standing over me and helping me get up.” Blaise explained.

“Then we came into the city again, and I saw Ildur outside, looking for me, she said she found you and then you left, but she saw you coming this way with a girl, so we all came over.” Tyral followed.

“Well, I’m glad you’re both o- well sort of okay.” Replied Bernielle, placing her hand on top of Blaise, looking over his wound.

Everyone stood in awkward silence, no one really knew what to say. Minette spoke up.

“So what will you all do now?” She asked.

“Yeah, what will we do now?” So did Ildur.

“Well,” Tyral said, “I did tell Fidus we’d go help him take the Palace, but we’ve checked, and they still seem to be in the middle of establishing a siege of sorts, so it’ll be a while ‘til he gets everyone organized. We should stay here until the riot has passed.”

Suddenly, another knock at the door. Sorex groaned and yelled, this time his sister did not stop him.

“Oh, for the love of Mara, who is it now?”

“This is ambassador Elenwen of the Thalmor embassy, and I command you to open this door immediately.”

Everyone stared in shock at the door, unsure of what to do. Ildur quickly opened the door without waiting for confirmation from anyone.

An elf woman, taller than anyone in the room, even Corpulus, who was tall for an imperial, entered the tavern, she had a stern look on her face and her blonde hair was combed back, she was dressed in a black coat, similar to Faenor, but with a different design. After her, five other elves wearing golden armor went through the door, alongside Faenor and another elf, a dunmer with a clipboard in his hand. Soon after they were all in the tavern, Tsijarr also appeared, sheepishly entering the building, Tyral wondered what he was doing there.

“You’re all part of this, ‘insurrection’, I take it?” Asked Elenwen, looking over everyone in the room, the rioting outside couldn’t be heard anymore.

“Well, my family-” Minette began to say.

“Silence, I already have my answer. Justiciar Faenor.” Elenwen snapped her fingers.

“Yes, ma’am?” Asked Faenor.

“Be so kind as to point the selected leader of the movement to me.”

“That would be the man over there, with the silly moustache.” Faenor pointed at Tyral, clearly offended by this comment, but too scared to protest.

“Ah, so you’re the one organizing this whole thing.” Elenwen said, raising her eyebrow.

“I am, what of it?” Tyral answered, sounding way bolder than he intended to.

“Good. Men, arrest all these people.” Said Elenwen.

“What?!” Said Tyral, Ildur, Bernielle, Blaise, Minette, Sorex, Corpulus, Tsijarr and Faenor.

The elven soldiers began putting the people in the tavern on the ground, restraining them with silver handcuffs, which were too tight, and felt like they would break their wrists.

“HEY, Faenor? What the fuck is this?!” Exclaimed Tyral.

Faenor looked just as confused, “Ma’am, with all due respect, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Taking these traitors as prisoners, can’t you see?”

“This is not what we agreed on, Elenwen.” Faenor grabbed Elenwen by the arm, the elven soldiers raised their swords at Faenor.

“I’ll forget you used my name, and we’ll speak about physical contact later, you’re proving very useful to me, Faenor, do not make me regret giving you this mission.” Elenwen pulled her arm away, “No, this is not what we agreed on, indeed, nevertheless here we are. Men, we’ll use this building as a makeshift prison until we get these uncivilized peasants in order, I want the windows to be barred and-”

Suddenly, Blaise got up and tried to tackle one of the elven soldiers, he yelled, “Bee, Tyral, get out of here!”, he tried two more times until a soldier pierced Blaise’s chest with his sword.

“No!” Shouted Bernielle, as Blaise began to bleed, the soldier removed the sword from his chest and Blaise fell flat on his stomach, laying in a pool of his own growing blood.

Everyone looked horrified, and Tyral began to loudly curse the elf who had just killed his friend to oblivion.

“You said you wouldn’t _kill_ anyone, ma’am!” Faenor angrily uttered.

“I tire of this game, justiciar, the plan is no longer in your hands. Unless… would you like to join your friends here?” Asked Elenwen, pointing at the group on the floor.

Faenor looked down, and Elenwen gave the slightest hint of a smug smirk on her face, until he began laughing.

“Elenwen, oh Elenwen, oh my dear sweet Elenwen,” Faenor stood erect, and he looked taller than ever before, “and here I had so many hopes for you. I thought you changed, I truly did think the Thalmor had changed, but unfortunately, I’ve been proven right once again, you idiots get a small taste of power and suddenly you want to drink the whole jug in one swing, no wonder everyone fucking hates us.”

“What is this? How dare you-” Elenwen’s voice cracked.

There was a change in the room, the temperature seemed to drop, and the pressure lowered a lot too, Tyral felt his ears pop. The dunmer standing next to Tyral stepped back, smiling.

“I’m doing exactly what I _didn’t_ want to do, Elenwen. My plan was perfect, but now you’ve gone and ruined everything.”

“D- Don’t you dare speak to me like that, Faenor, I am your superior officer and I’ll-”

A faint current of air made everyone’s hair start to move around.

“And yet you feel fear, do you not? You know you’re powerless against me, you don’t want to admit it, maybe you don’t even realize it, but you know it.”

He was right, Tyral didn’t know why, but suddenly he felt very afraid, not of Elenwen or at the fact that his old friend laid dead next to him, he felt terrified of Faenor. The current grew into a strong wind.

“Don’t be a moron! They’ll kill you before you can even lay a finger on me!” Elenwen pointed to her soldiers, “In fact, men, arrest this foolish insubordinate.”

“I’d much rather you didn’t, ‘men’, this bitch has no power over you, you can go.”

The soldiers looked confused and conflicted, two of them ran away and got out of the building very quickly, the other three stayed and tried to raise their swords against Faenor once again.

“As you wish, but I’d like to note that I did warn you.”

Two of the three soldiers charged at Faenor, though before they could take two steps forward, a loud crack came from their necks, and they collapsed onto the floor, instantly dead.

Elenwen blasted fire from her hands, the heat raised the entire room’s temperature, Faenor deflected the fire with a ward spell using one hand, with the other he reached out to Elenwen, as if he was trying to touch her, she began levitating, she desperately increased the fire’s intensity to no avail, and a sickening gurgle could be heard coming from her.

“You’ve been torturing people your entire life, Elenwen, you enjoy watching people suffer and you keep them for yourself even after they confess,” Elenwen’s fire stopped and she clawed at her neck, as if trying to remove an invisible hand from it, “and yet, you keep using the same tools, the same technique for it, if you’re going to be a sadistic monster you should at least try to be a little creative dear, let me show you.”

What occurred then wasn’t pleasant, and for the sake of your stomach I won’t go into details, I’ll just say Faenor gave a new meaning to the saying ‘puke your guts out’.

When the deed was done, Elenwen laid dead and eviscerated, everyone looked in a combination of dread, horror and awe at the sight. The wind inside the tavern stopped, and both the temperature and pressure went back to normal. Faenor inhaled deeply, as if he had been underwater for a very long time, he coughed a few times before clearing his throat and looking back at the group.

“Sorry about that; now, let’s get down to business.” Faenor adjusted his coat.


	8. Force

_Sjel Blad Castle, Whiterun Hold, 27 th of Rain’s Hand_

“When did this happen?” asked the man in the black doublet, walking down a hall with one of his commanders by his side.

“Just yesterday, my lord, at about midday.”

“Do we have any numbers? Do we know who’s leading them?”

“It appears to be a mostly civilian force, so we can assume the entire populace of Solitude to be involved, and there are reports of Thalmor activity in the area, so we should consider them into the equation.”

“Damn it, I thought those altmer bastards learned their lesson fifteen years ago, but if it’s war they want, it’s war they’ll get.”

The man entered his armory and looked at the black armored coat on a stand, the one he was wearing when he went to Sovngarde fifteen years earlier. He faced his commander and asked:

“How long will it take us to reach Solitude?”

“Depends, with all the men currently in the castle it should take about a week, if you only take a company you should be able reach the city by Tirdas.”

The man considered for a minute, and then he gave his orders, “Tell the best one hundred of our riders to get their horses ready, we depart for Solitude at dusk, and send word to Inigo and Lucien, I want them to meet me at Dragonbridge, you’re dismissed.”

“Yes, lord Tywin.” the man bowed and left with his orders.

Tywin patted his old coat, remembering the day he last wore it to Solitude, the day Ulfric Stormcloak’s head was put on a pike outside Castle Dour, the day he was celebrated as a hero of Skyrim, for having dealt with two of the biggest threats of the entire era in the span of one year.

“Gods…” he muttered, “I really hope this isn’t another Ulfric.”

_Back at Solitude…_

“What in the name of Akatosh’s left nipple just happened,” said Tyral.

“Sorry about that; now, let’s get down to business.” Faenor adjusted his coat.

“Did you just kill the Thalmor ambassador in Skyrim?” asked Tsijarr, looking at Elenwen’s and the guards’ corpses.

“I did, but that’s no longer relevant, we need to focus on what to do next.”

“What on Nirn do you mean?! You said we needed the Thalmor for our plan to work! On several occasions!” Ildur stumbled trying to get up, the handcuffs were still on her.

“Well apparently the Thalmor are far stupider than I thought and can’t follow a plan without messing it up for more than five minutes, you’ll have to do with me for now,” Faenor gently kicked the body of one of the soldiers lying on the floor; he then removed the handcuffs from the people inside the Winking Skeever. “Okay, first thing’s first, we need to go to the Blue Palace and check how our people over there are doing, then we need to capture the queen and we’ll improvise from there.”

“What do we do with Elisif once we have her with us?” Tyral asked.

“I just said… look, man, I don’t know, do the people like Elisif?”

“Maybe? I think they do but I’m not sure if that was because Tullius was basically in charge all these years or because they actually like her.”

“Then I suppose we’ll have to see what the people want,” Faenor turned to the dunmer with the clipboard, “Rinvos, go back to the embassy, tell them the ambassador is dead, and to wait for my command, understood?”

“Completely, sir.” The dunmer left the tavern once more. 

Bernielle spoke up, “Okay, will you just _forget_ about your fucking ‘plan’ for two seconds and remember about the fact that Blaise is **_DEAD_**?” Her jaw still hurt, and it got worse when she spoke loudly.

“Oh, right. My deepest condolences, we’ll find a place to bury him after we deal with the palace situation.” Faenor placed his hand on Blaise’s wound and bowed for about three seconds before resuming his plan.

Tyral did the same thing, to which Bernielle looked very angry.

“Are you serious right now? Our boss, landlord and best friend is dead and all you can do is honor him for five seconds? What is wrong with you?”

“Bee, I get that, and I mourn our friend too, I really do, but this isn’t the time for mourning, we need to be quick about this or his death will be meaningless.”

Bernielle wanted to protest, but she couldn’t find any more words to do so, this day had gone from bad to worse in a matter of minutes.

The now freed group walked out of the tavern to find the streets mostly empty, with the occasional nosy neighbor, peeking their head out to see what was happening. The crowd that fought the guards and plunged the city into chaos was now gathered around the gate to the Blue Palace, Bolion was trying to talk to them, though they mostly ignored him. There were guards standing over the gatehouse with bows on their hands, ready to shoot at anyone who got too close to the gate. Other guards were standing on the sides outside the Palace, spears, swords and bows in hand, in formation. These were on the insurrection’s side now.

With the crowd ignoring Bolion, Fidus stepped on top of one of the walls of the outer garden, and blew on a whistle that made everyone cover their ears.

“Attention, people of Solitude!” Fidus yelled out at the crowd, who all turned to look at him.

“You will form three lines in front of the gate! Remain in that position and be quiet until we can reach an agreement with those inside the palace!”

The crowd continued to stare at the old commander, awaiting for any more orders.

“What if we don’t want to?” a voice rang out from within the crowd.

Fidus picked up a small rock and tossed it at the person speaking.

“Ow. Okay, point taken.”

The crowd began to form the three lines in a somewhat orderly fashion, as Bolion motioned where to start each one. The guards on top of the gatehouse looked at each other, one of them shrugged. 

Everyone stood silent and in anticipation of what would come next.

Fidus spoke once more, “Does anyone have something they’d like to say before we go through with this? I don’t want to hear another word out of you all for the rest of the day.”

Bolion put his hand up, and Fidus motioned for him to talk, “Yeah, can I go home?”

Fidus looked at Tyral, who was standing next to the three lines, with the rest of his group at his side. Tyral, in turn, turned to Faenor.

“I can’t speak for you, my friend, these people must know you’re the one leading them,” said Faenor, quietly.

“Okay, okay,” Tyral cleared his throat and deepened his voice, “You may go, my elven friend.”

“Thanks, mate,” said Bolion as he left the crowd and headed for the exit.

“Good, now that that’s out of the way we can actually start negotiating,” Fidus turned to look at the guards, “fellow military men, we’ll make this clear and simple, hand over the palace and the royal family and no one gets hurt.”

“Are you insane? No!” replied the guard.

“Look, son, we have the entire palace surrounded, your exits are blocked and most of your comrades are either dead or have sided with us, you have very few options here.”

“Of course we do, we can just wait here for you to get tired while our reinforcements arrive and put everything back in order! We have more than enough supplies in here to last us two weeks!”, another soldier whispered something into the negotiator’s ear, “two months, I meant two months.”

Onthus appeared from behind the group, startling most of them, “Hello, fellows, what’s with the bellows of that mellow fellow? I could hear them all the way from my hellhole.”

“Nice rhymes,” chuckled Ildur, “we’re just waiting for Fidus to either convince the guards to let us into the palace or to just tell our own soldiers to smash the gate in.”

“Interesting, do we get to keep artifacts from the palace for academic purposes?”

“No,” said everyone.

Fidus was still talking when he was suddenly interrupted, “And I know for a fact you don’t have the ability to turn people into sweetrolls, young man, the last person I knew who could do that was-”

“Actually, you know what? Sure, come inside, we’ve changed our minds,” the soldier replied.

“I… really?”

“Sure, but only those in charge may enter, the rest must wait outside.”

“But, why?”

“Her majesty has decided to surrender the palace, she wishes to speak to you so that no more death shall sweep the city on this day.”

Fidus once again turned to Tyral, who quickly responded, “Alright, my companions and I will enter the palace, peacefully. Fidus, keep everyone outside, but make sure they keep the gates unlocked in case they try any funny business.”

“You got it, kid.”

As they entered the palace, Tyral could feel all eyes on him, everyone was watching him and his group. There was a certain eeriness to the atmosphere, the entire city seemed a lot more quiet than usual, the distant chatter and yelling of children playing replaced by a deafening silence, and the occasional muttering of the crowd outside, the sound of a spear hitting the ground, the shuffling of a guard’s armor.

Tyral went through the unlocked palace doors, and said hello into the quiet entrance, receiving no response. Assuming the queen must be in the throne room, awaiting them with a squad of guards around her and her court in every corner of the room, he went to the stairs leading to it.

Suddenly, as he put a foot on the first step, the doors were shut, and a magical wind like the one felt back at the tavern flowed around the palace, a cloaked woman jumped from above the stairway into the entrance, and what looked like a dozen guards appeared from behind pillars in the main hall, all bearing halberds, making Tyral stand back. The woman commanded the guards.

“I can only keep the doors shut for so long, kill them now!” yelled the woman.

“That’s Sybille Stentor!” Ildur said, excitedly.

No one really had time to question who that was, because the guards started charging at them immediately. Tyral took out Crownbreaker, Onthus got his axe out, Ildur positioned herself for a magical attack, Bernielle clutched the elven dagger, and Faenor placed his hood over his head and backed away.

Tyral felt a sudden rush of energy within him, even his senses had seemingly sharpened, he looked down and saw some sort of magic flowing through him, he looked back and saw Faenor using a spell on him, Tyral turned and faced the charging enemy with a direct blow to the helmet, which knocked him right out. The rest of the group, even without being boosted by magic, were handling themselves pretty well.

At one moment, Ildur was shooting ice spikes out of her hands, until she wasn’t, she looked panicked and tried to shoot several more times, a guard holding a sword approached her, and swung his sword, Ildur covered her head with her arms; the swing was blocked by Onthus, who used his other hand to punch the guard in the chest, kneed him in the stomach and finally used his axe to pierce the back.

“You okay?” Onthus asked.

“Yeah, I think I ran out of magicka, though,” she replied.

“Erm, stand there and charge up, I’ll cover you.”

Tyral was almost effortlessly going through the guards, until a particularly large one approached him, wielding a greatsword. Tyral went for the first blow, which the guard easily blocked, he went for a second blow, which the guard retaliated by hitting Tyral with the back of the black sword, the spikes pierced his skin and made him scream in pain. Tyral took the spikes out of his face and went for third blow, but a cracking sound came from the guard’s neck, and he fell down to the floor dead, Tyral looked back at Faenor, who shook his head slowly.

The fighting continued for a few minutes, and the sounds of someone barging at the door were drowned out by the clashing inside, Faenor got up from his spot and spoke up.

“Alright, enough, this is far too dangerous,” Faenor charged up on magic again, and all the enemies except the court wizard were dead instantly, he looked at the group as he headed for Stentor, “those were all my uses of that spell for the next month, I hope you all make it worth it.”

The door was smashed in, and Fidus entered the palace wielding his old imperial sword, the mob followed him, though they stopped once they realized the battle was over. Stentor tried to use a lightning strike, but was stopped by Faenor’s ward, like Elenwen’s fire. Faenor then began to do something rather odd, it looked as if the blue magic energy, or as Ildur liked to call it, magicka, was flowing out of Stentor and going into the altmer. Stentor looked… not hurt, no, she looked like she was in a lot of discomfort, bordering on pain but not quite it; by the end of it, she laid on the ground, gasping for air.

“Holy shit, what was that?” asked Tyral.

“A little tricked I learned a few years ago, but that’s not really relevant now; commander!” Faenor explained, “take Miss Stentor to the dungeon, we’ll deal with her and the rest of these noble fools later.”

Tyral was close enough to hear Faenor whisper something into the wizard’s ear before Fidus took her away, “You get what you deserve, you magic scum.”

As Fidus restrained Stentor with chains, she spit on the floor, she was then dragged out of the palace by two guards.

“Oh my gods, that was Lightning Storm! That’s the most advanced destruction spell in the book! I can’t believe Sybille Stentor just tried to kill me!” Ildur squealed.

“Good to know,” Onthus said, “so, what do we do now?”

Tyral thought for a moment, “Well, I suppose we ought to look for the queen would be…”

“The queen is leaving in a boat! The queen is leaving in a boat!” a voice cried from outside.

Everyone turned to look, and left the palace quickly to see for themselves. Most got on top of the walls to get a good look at the docks, including the group of companions. Sure enough, there it was, a royal ship heading for the arch, with several guardsmen on top. People erratically left the city walls and headed for the docks, on which there was already a mob of people screaming at the ship leaving.

“Shit, what do we do, Faenor?” asked Tyral.

“Well I could try to stop it by myself, but I’ve already placed too much attention on myself by using magic today, so I recommend you use fire to force the people within, out of it.”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

Tyral called everyone to throw anything they had at the boat, magic, arrows, torches, whatever they could use to make the boat catch fire; however, most of the fire arrows went out the moment they left the bow, the torches were too heavy to be thrown far enough, and there were few mages left in the city, as most of them had either left or were killed during the riot.

The guards on top of the ship were fighting back, shooting arrows of their own, Gulabash was commanding the men over the deck.

Just as the ship was about to pass through the arch, someone from above the palace walls shouted:

“Hey! I found this jar of stuff in the wizard’s room!” they then dropped a jar containing a brown substance on the boat.

The second the jar hit the deck, a fire arrow landed by the same spot, and the liquid inside the jar burst to flames, igniting the entire ship in a matter of seconds. Some guards were unlucky enough to be within the fire’s range, and they were consumed by the flames, some of them tried to jump out into the water, but the flames persisted, even when they were submerged. Gulabash went under the deck and came out carrying someone in each arm, Tyral recognized who was in Gulabash’s left arm, it was Angal, prince of Skyrim.

Someone followed Gulabash out into the deck, a redguard woman, she said something to Gulabash, and spoke to the people in his arms, the fire was rising and expanding all over the wooden ship, the sails were now burning up and the mast was collapsing, the redguard woman took Angal and jumped into the water, as did Gulabash and whoever was in his right arm. The woman and Angal were taken away by the current of the Karth river and away from the arch, but Gulabash managed to hold on to a root in the riverbank, and helped the woman he was holding get up.

Tyral turned to look at Faenor for further instructions, but he was gone, he was now next to the woman who had left the river, with a group of armed people at his side, Gulabash got up to the bank as well, and grabbed his battle-axe, prepared for a fight, though the woman, who Tyral now recognized as queen Elisif stopped him, and motioned him to put his weapon down, Faenor and his posse restrained both of them.

Everyone cheered for the capture of the queen, and the few guards that remained on the ship were nowhere to be found, so Tyral just assumed, maybe he wanted to think they had made it to safety. The people went back in the city, and Tyral noticed Fidus and his men escorting a few more prisoners from the palace. It was mostly people dressed in fancy clothing, though there were a few servants as well.

Almost all the prisoners captured that way were put in the dungeons of Castle Dour, except for the queen herself, who was put on the entrance plaza of the city, where the execution block could be found; a makeshift trial was convened, and Tyral was elected to be the ultimate judge by the crowd.

Elisif stood with her hands restrained in handcuffs, and everyone stood by waiting for whatever happened next, because no matter what it was, it would most certainly make history.

Tyral repeated what Faenor had told him he should say when they finally had the queen in his head, and he made sure to speak clearly for everyone to hear, “High Queen Elisif I of Skyrim, I speak for the people of Solitude when I say: we no longer support your rule, or the rule of any monarch for that matter, over the province of Skyrim,” Tyral looked at Elisif, to see that she wasn’t looking at him, or at the crowd, she was looking down, with worry in her eyes, “therefore, on this day, the 26th of Rain’s Hand, of the year 218 of the Fourth Era, we, the insurrection, the voice of the people, declare your rule void, illegitimate, and illegal, and you shall be removed from the throne, effective immediately.”

Elisif continued to look down, not acknowledging anything Tyral was saying.

“Do you have anything to declare, any words of defense or any objections, ma’am?” asked Tyral.

“My only one objection is to that of your existence, you devil,” replied Elisif.

Tyral was taken aback, he was not expecting her to actually respond. He then had to declare what would happen to Elisif, now that she was not in any position of power. This was a difficult decision, if he banished her, would she return with reinforcements? With an entire army at her back? If he imprisoned her, she would remain a claimant to the throne, and someone would most likely try to break her out. If he executed her, would that not make him a monster? A tyrant literally the day he took power?

He remained silent for some time, the crowd exchanged glances and awaited for Tyral’s words. He made up his mind, and he spoke it too:

“Elisif, I propose to you, if you swear loyalty to the insurrection, you will be allowed to retain a profession of your choice within the city, and be granted immunity by our group, you have my word.” Tyral put his hand up, and the other on his chest.

The crowd didn’t look too pleased with this, they were expecting something far more exciting.

“Loyalty… You tell me I have your word, that if I swear loyalty to you, I will be safe, and free. You dare speak to me about loyalty, when on this day you have taken the loyalty of my subjects, destroyed their loyalty to their nation, and to their queen. You speak to me about loyalty, when all my life I’ve done nothing but be loyal to my people, to you, the nords of Skyrim.” Elisif raised her voice into a bellow, startling a few of the onlookers, “You dare speak to me about safety, and freedom, when I gave up my freedom the day that wretched monster waltzed into my palace, and slaughtered my beloved in front of me, even though I knew I didn’t know anything about ruling, about kingdoms, and politics, and armies, and war, I went for advice to only the best of the best men this realm had to offer, I took the crown I never wanted, I spent countless nights trying to read useless reports of casualties, of losses and gains, of things I had no interest in. You dare speak to me like I chose to be where I am, like I wanted any of you to be under my rule, as if it was my choice, to be the queen of such uncivilized, dirty, lying, cheating, disgusting pieces of ape stool, who would look at all I did for them, and say I’m the one responsible for the suffering they cause with their own greed and hatred for one another, well you know what? Maybe it would be best if you cut my head off now and free me from this hell I’ve created, because maybe it is my fault, for thinking anyone would ever be grateful for anything you **fucking do for them**!”

At that point Tyral didn’t know what to say, and neither did the audience, until the booing started, people were yelling foul things at Elisif, and demanding for her request of being beheaded to be met immediately. Tyral did not think it would be that difficult to order the execution of someone, but it somehow was.

“Erm, Elisif, for your insults to the people of Solitude, you are sentenced to imprisonment for life?” Tyral did not intend to make it sound like a question, but it came out like one. The people continued booing and they even seemed to be booing Tyral now. He looked at the middle of the crowd to find the unmistakable black hood of his new elven ally, who slowly shook his head once again.

Tyral then hesitantly declared that Elisif was to be beheaded, right there, right then. A guard put her in the needed position, her outer robe was removed, and her neck exposed to the sunlight. An older looking redguard, the executioner, went up the stairs to the block, carrying the axe that had so many times before cut through the flesh of dangerous criminals, and high traitors, this time about to cut the flesh of a queen.

Everyone once gain stood quiet, Tyral felt sweat dripping down his forehead, he didn’t expect the dread that came with this, he really didn’t. A single tear dripped from Elisif’s eye, and she quietly said her last words to Tyral:

“Please… make sure my boy is alright, look for him… please…”

The blade of the axe glistened in the sunlight, it went down making a terrible swooshing noise, the sickening sound like that of a butcher’s knife cutting through a tough piece of meat was heard, and the drop of something heavy in the box below too.

The queen was dead, long live the insurrection. 


	9. Balance

_Somewhere north of Rorikstead_

The sound of trotting hooves filled the usually quiet air of the Whiterun fields, a company of one hundred and one men rode on the road to Solitude, in a mission to aid the high queen in quelling a civil uprising, probably caused by the Thalmor.

Leading the men was a man in black armored garments, black hair, riding a black horse, the man followed a strict aesthetic.

One of his riders approached him and asked, “My lord, would you mind if I asked you a question?”

“Sure thing, what’s on your mind?” Tywin answered.

“Some other guys at Sjel Blad said that this rebellion was part of a Thalmor plot, is that true, sir?”

“I can’t really answer that, son, I don’t know for sure, to be honest.”

“Oh… but if it was, would that mean that we’d finally go to the final war against them?”

“Uhm, perhaps, but I really wouldn’t count on it.”

“Why not, sir? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“The Thalmor have been a plague on our province for decades now, they continue to harass us and threaten us with war for every year we don’t submit to them, but ever since the great war there hasn’t been a big political move from their part, so maybe they could come to realize the futility of trying to conquer us, don’t you think?”

“I guess so… I’d really like to go to war against them though, to finally get revenge for our people, you know? I’d love to be a war hero like you, my lord.”

“That’s… very honoring, do go back to your post.” Tywin smiled at the soldier.

“My lord,” the soldier said as he went back in formation.

Tywin’s smile faded as soon as the rider was out of sight, he turned and looked ahead once again.

In the distance, a figure ran through the cobblestone road, approaching the company at great speed. When Tywin noticed it, he ordered his men to raise their lances and take defensive positions. Tywin took out his sword, the silver blade glistened under the midday sun.

When the person got closer, Tywin noticed it was a woman, a redguard woman… Margna! Tywin put his sword away and got off the horse, he went to greet Elisif’s stewardess, but the moment he got close enough, she collapsed into his arms, she looked bloodied and covered in dirt.

“By the gods, Margna! Are you alright? What happened?” asked Tywin.

She spoke in slurred, quick words between gasps of air, “Angal… prince… queen… they took… city… hurry!”, Tywin embraced her and tried to get her to be more precise.

“Please, you must try to be clearer, what has happened in Solitude?” Tywin asked, his brow arched in concern.

She wasn’t able to give a clear answer or speak in a complete sentence, and he noticed a deep, bleeding gash on her forehead, so he lifted her up and took her to one of his riders.

“Take her to Whiterun, to the temple of Kynareth, make sure she heals and ask her what happened, understood?”

“Yes, my lord.” The soldier put his fist on his chest and helped Margna get on the horse, then they rode away.

The company went on their way, and Tywin could now see the grey mountains of the Reach getting larger, they were approaching their destination, and soon they’d be at Solitude’s doorstep.

_Back at Solitude…_

The day that followed Elisif’s execution was almost a blur to Tyral. He was still technically the leader of the insurrection, but it was mostly Faenor who told him what to do, and what to say in his speeches. Since there was no one living in the Blue Palace anymore, those who lived in Blaise’s farm were allowed to reside in it, also because Blaise was dead.

Bernielle kept complaining about her jaw, and one of the physicians still in the city examined her, and determined that her jaw had been fractured, there was little he could do, since the best mages and doctors had abandoned the city the moment the riots started, so Bernielle was bandaged and told to stay still and in bed, but there was little chance that her broken bone could be fully healed without the help of a professional. Tyral made sure there were guards positioned next to their room all day. She couldn’t speak, so it became hard to really talk about what happened with her.

Several members of the royal court were also executed for treason against the new government, and although Tyral tried to interject and protest, Faenor’s word was always last, and Faenor’s word was always death.

Tyral continued to “rule”, and he was given the position of lord mayor of the city, it became clear that nothing had really changed, beside the fact that there was someone else in basically the rank of a king. There was nothing else to do but wait for Faenor’s allies to arrive, but that was no longer something Tyral looked forward to, considering how well that had gone last time.

The rest of the insurrection noticed it too, the whole plan revolved around the Thalmor aiding this new government, but the events of the first day made it clear they were not interested in aiding anyone, they were only interested in ruling by themselves. Everyone in the group felt like, though the plan had technically worked, they had somehow lost.

On the second day, an alarm was sounded, there was an army outside the walls of the city, the reinforcements from Dragonbridge had arrived. The gates were locked, the walls manned, and all the shit people could find was thrown at the soldiers, mildly inconveniencing them with the smell.

With an army outside, ready for battle and with revenge in their mind, Tyral pleaded with Faenor to bring their Thalmor allies, because now more than ever they needed them, the first revolt was not particularly hard because there was no indication that it would happen, but now they were facing a far more ferocious enemy. Faenor replied that Tyral should remain calm, and that the Thalmor forces would arrive once the black dragon army appeared.

“I’m sorry, the _what_ now?” asked Tyral.

“The black dragon army, the Dragonborn’s military force, my sources tell me they should be here by tomorrow,” replied Faenor, his eyes looking somewhere distant.

“So we’re supposed to fend off against not one currently-standing-outside-the-walls army, but two very pissed off armies by ourselves?”

“No, not by ourselves, the Thalmor’s forces are considerably larger, and we have many more mages within our ranks, I cannot guarantee a total victory, but we shall be able to hold them off for quite some time.”

“Then tell me when the Thalmor’s forces will arrive! I don’t need to know what they’ll do or how good their odds are against the Dragonborn, I want to know if we’ll be safe within the city, we can’t stay in here forever and soon enough they’ll all get tired of waiting and crash the walls down.”

“On that, you may be wrong, we have the advantage that this is a very old and respected city, while I agree that armies are quick to tire of waiting, they don’t lack respect for their history, all the more for nords, you and your friends, and most of the population will be safe from the siege.”

With that ‘most’ passing through Tyral’s head without ever hitting his mind, he continued talking “Won’t they be angrier at the fact that we killed the queen? Or that we’re getting help from the Thalmor? The essentially sworn enemy of men? Who I’m now starting to realize may not have been the best choice for an ally in the first place? Gods I really need to stop chatting when I’m drunk…”

Faenor looked at Tyral with the same expression he gave when they were walking down the road to Blaise’s farm the first time they meant, a look of exasperation you give a child when you’re trying to tell them why it’s a bad idea to piss in the well.

“Your drinking habits are a problem we will deal with later, my friend. Nevertheless, you fail to consider the fact that no one knows the queen is dead, and no one knows the Thalmor are actually involved in this, my comrades haven’t issued an official statement of conflict to anyone, this is all illicit as far as anyone is concerned. Why, we have many advantages, Ty, we must use them all if we’re to defend the city from these would be invaders.” Faenor put his hand on Tyral’s, who quickly pulled it away in discomfort.

Tyral wanted to refute, to continue arguing, but there were no words left in his mind that sounded fancier than those which had just left Faenor’s. So instead of fighting further and embarrassing himself, Tyral decided to think about what to say next time and go to bed.

When he got to the door, the guards were still there, and he told them to go back to whatever they were doing.

“Hey, uh, guys, you can leave now if you want,” Tyral said.

“We’ve been ordered to stay here until lady Bernielle recovers, sir,” the guard on the right responded.

“I mean, yes, I did say that, but I didn’t mean every second of the day, you can leave whenever you want.”

“We cannot leave unless you order us to, sir,” the guard on the left explained.

“I… fine, I order you both to go to bed and leave us alone.”

“Sir.”

Both guards saluted and left the hallway, Tyral entered the room and saw Bernielle, still in bed, a face like that of a doll on her, without an expression. He sat down on the silk sheeted bed, and held Bernielle’s hand.

“Hey Bee, you doing okay?” he asked.

She couldn’t answer verbally, but she nodded ever so slightly.

“I’m very glad,” he chuckled, “what have you been doing today?”

She looked at the bed and looked at Tyral, unimpressed.

“Of course, but, surely that can’t be all, I know you too well to believe you could just stay in here doing nothing all day, come on, fill me in.”

Bernielle thought for a moment, and then looked at her notebook on the desk, she pointed at it with her eyes. Tyral went and grabbed it, he opened it and saw the latest entry.

“Woah, did you write this? This song by yourself?” he asked.

Bernielle nodded again.

“This song’s beautiful! I can’t wait to hear it, the college teachers would be fools not to accept you with this kind of material, this is top tier stuff, right here, dear.”

She gently smiled, but quickly closed her eyes in pain, even smiling was difficult now, but the blush on her cheeks was more than enough for Tyral.

He got in bed with her, and spoke once again.

“I’m sorry, for everything that’s happened, I truly didn’t think it would end up like this, I trusted Faenor, my love,” he said, caressing Bernielle’s head, being careful as to not undo her bandages, “and now we are here, trapped in the city, with tw- an army at the gates. I’m sorry I ever put you in this situation, I should’ve listened to you before, maybe someone else should’ve done it, maybe then Blaise wouldn’t have been there too…”

Bernielle’s eyes closed, and tears rolled down her face, wetting her bandages, she softly cried.

“Oh, dear, that shouldn’t happen, don’t cry, Bee, don’t cry, I’ll go get more cloth.” He got up and cut some linen cloth to replace the wet one. When he did, he finally undid the sheets and got in bed to sleep, continuing to pet Bee’s hair, softly speaking to her.

There were so many things to regret about what had happened, but now the deed had been done, with everything in his name, everyone in Skyrim would consider him a rebel, a murderer, a terrorist, if things continued to go as they had been. This was not at all how he imagined the revolution would occur, and maybe it was his fault for not realizing sooner that Faenor was not actually interested in listening to him, and now everyone he loved was in danger or dead because of him, and they had no way to escape this dire situation.

Unless they did…

As soon as he woke up, at 4 am to be exact, he summoned every other member of the insurrection to a meeting, except Faenor, who slept until noon. Only Fidus failed to show up, as he was still going over the logistics of siege defense, and how they would hold up against the two armies, even with the aid of a Thalmor regiment.

“Alright, I think we’re more than enough, thank you all for coming,” Tyral said.

“I was going to ask why you’ve summoned us before the bird’s song begins, but I’m guessing it has something to do with Faenor not being awake to listen, correct?” asked Ildur.

“Correct, I do admit that, while I still depend on him, and hope he proves useful to our cause, I don’t trust him as much as I did before, and I think neither of you does as well.”

No one interjected, so he continued, “You’ve all been great help to get us where we are now, and I have no doubts that you have total loyalty to what we’re trying to accomplish here, but I must ask something of all of you. Do you think we should trust the coming Thalmor force? Should we believe that they have our best interest, not just ours as in the insurrection, but ours as in the whole of Solitude, in mind?”

No one said anything, expecting another to respond, “You can answer that,” Tyral said.

“I don’t,” said Ildur.

“Neither do I,” added Onthus.

“This one feels even more weary around the elves in black now,” explained Tsijarr.

“I wanted to, but honestly I can’t even look at Faenor after what happened to Blaise, I say no, too,” reasoned Bolion.

Bernielle carefully shook her head.

“The truth is I don’t, either, whether or not the Thalmor are strong enough to defeat the Dragonborn, there’s just no guarantee that they’ll leave us be and help from a distance as Faenor promised, and I fear the entire populace might be in danger too. This is the reason why I propose we carry out an evacuation.”

“An evacuation? You mean you want the people to leave the city?” Onthus inquired.

“Well, not everyone, I mean, only those who genuinely don’t want to be inside the city walls if they were to be breached by the enemy, or if they don’t trust the Thalmor enough.”

“Wait a moment, I thought no one knew the Thalmor were involved in this yet.” Tsijarr tilted his head.

Tyral was about to retort when he realized, indeed, no one did know about the Aldmeri Dominion’s involvement in this revolution apart from them, so to include that part into the reasons why people should leave would be to reveal the fact that the insurrection was essentially a Thalmor puppet, which would not be a good way to get the people to listen to them.

Regardless, thinking through the pros and cons, the insurrection managed to make up a solid plan. Firstly, before Faenor woke up, Ildur, Bolion and Onthus would go door to door, asking if anyone in that household wanted to leave the city before the imminent battle, then they would take them down to the dock entrance, and, to make sure neither the army outside or Faenor noticed them, they would divert all attention to the front gates, where Fidus would take Faenor and start bickering with the officers outside, and with the Dragonborn as well, who Tyral hoped enjoyed banter as well if he did arrive, taking up just enough time to allow the escapees to leave the city unnoticed, with the rest of the insurrection following suit. Then, Tyral would remain in the city, with Faenor, making sure the battle caused the minimal amount of collateral damage.

The first part of the plan wasn’t particularly hard, a lot of people were scared, and they wanted to leave immediately, some wanted to stay to watch over their city and protect it, but those who had small children or elderly people in their household made them go, some tears were cried, and some goodbyes were said, but most parents knew their child had no part in this new war. Tyral and Bernielle went to Fidus to tell him of their plan, and though he didn’t fully understand, he agreed to do his part. Tyral went to Faenor’s bedroom and knocked on the door.

A sad approximation of Faenor stood before Tyral in that doorway, his eyes were bloodshot, and his hair looked more like a white khajiit’s hairball than the elegant bang of hair Tyral came to associate with him.

“Yeah? Can I help you?” Faenor scratched his cheek.

“Good morning, Feefee, I was just talking to Fidus as is usual and he told me he needed you to go to the front gates of the city, I think something’s going on with the reinforcements,” said Tyral.

“What, would they like to surrender?”

“Hah, I wish, no, I think it has something to do with the Dragonborn.”

All exhaustion left Faenor’s face, the elegant look returning as Tyral mentioned that name.

“Interesting, I should go and check it out.”

Tyral made sure Faenor never left the battlements, as the escapees were moving right next to the city walls. Faenor and Tyral arrived with Fidus, who was speaking with one of the men in charge of the force outside.

“No, it’s not _just_ a smutty book, it’s supposed to present the societal differences between argonian and human hierarchies by presenting a subservient maid and her master! It’s satire, you moro- oh damn.” Fidus saw Tyral approaching and cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, this is lord mayor Tyral of the independent city of Solitude, here to discuss important matters with you, also here’s Faenor.”

Tyral looked at the soldiers below, and noticed that there were a lot more of them now than the last time he checked, which meant the other entrances were less defended, and so the escapees would be able to get out quickly and quietly, just as planned. Wind howled loudly as Tyral spoke to the commander outside.

“Hello, uh, enemy, I would like to negotiate with you.” Tyral saluted.

Faenor looked at Tyral incredulously, “Erm, Tyral, I seriously doubt this is in our best interest.”

“Shut up for a moment; yes I would like to negotiate terms with you.”

“There is nothing to negotiate, rebel scum, the Dragonborn’s forces will arrive any minute now, and together we’ll storm the city and kill you all, it would be easier for all of us if you just surrender now,” said the commander. The wind howled once again, louder, as if it somehow had gotten… closer?

“Well, I’ll admit I’m not the best at words, so I better leave this with my trusted ally here, Faenor, he’s a really good speaker and I think you all ought to listen to what he has to say.” Tyral started walking away from the scene, leaving Faenor to his own devices.

“Tyral! What in Auriel’s name do you think you’re doing?! You can’t just-” Faenor started saying, but Tyral ignored him, as he wished to see if the plan had indeed worked, and the escapees were outside the city.

The last thing Tyral heard was the commander saying: “Hey wait a second, is that a Thalmor uniform?”

Tyral arrived at where the insurrection had agreed to take the people to leave the city, and he noticed that a significant portion of them were still inside, as the large group were funneling through the small entrance. He saw Ildur standing next to the group, inside the tunnel, guiding the elderly through to the gates.

“Hey, how is everything going? How does the situation look on the other side?” asked Tyral.

“Pretty good actually, there were very few soldiers standing next to this gate, we took care of them easily,” replied Ildur.

“You all have to hurry; I don’t know how long that chitchat will keep Faenor busy.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? It’s not like you’re actually going to be an important part of the battle.”

Tyral didn’t know whether to be happy that she wanted him to go along, or insulted at the fact that she considered him useless in combat, “No, thank you, someone’s gotta make sure Faenor doesn’t make too big of a mess, I just want to say goodbye to Bernielle before you all head to Dragonbridge.”

“Yeah, I get it, she’s just outside, just wait until these folks are outside and then we-”

Ildur was interrupted by the wind howling again, this time louder, so loud it made Tyral’s head vibrate. He almost got annoyed until he realized, he was in a tunnel, there couldn’t have been wind that strong in there, and isn’t wind usually… felt?

It was at that moment that a loud boom came from above, from the towers of the city, and then a tremendous roar was heard, alongside the sound of huge, flapping wings.


	10. Push

_Dragonbridge_

There was a large gathering of soldiers around the streets of the cliffside town, most of them were backup for other soldiers, the ones who were currently outside the gates of Solitude, waiting for the rebels to attack, or for the Dragonborn to arrive and begin a siege.

One of the soldiers put his bottle of ale down on a crate, to drink it later; suddenly, the bottle began to shake, and the soldier was about to grab it, until the crate shook so much the bottle fell down, the sound of horses approaching the town was heard. The company of the black dragon army had finally appeared, Tywin Stormblade, the Dragonborn, had arrived.

Many soldiers looked in awe as the riders stopped their trotting and settled down, the Dragonborn got down from his horse and inspected the town, silent as it had ever been, only the sound of the gentle midday breeze could be heard. The Dragonborn spoke in a commanding tone.

“I have only one, very crucial question, men, one only you can provide an answer for.” What kind of question could the Dragonborn himself have for lowly soldiers? They wondered, “Have any of you seen a stray blue cat around here, by any chance?”

Everyone looked perplexed, what kind of silly question was that? Another voice rang out from the crowd.

“Hey, just because I do not sleep by your hearth does not mean I’m a stray, Tywin.” A male, tall khajiit with indigo-colored fur wearing silver armor exited the crowd and greeted the Dragonborn.

“Ah, my dear Inigo!” The Dragonborn went to embrace the blue khajiit, an unexpected and yet somehow endearing sight for the soldiers, “It has been years since the last time I saw you, but tell me, is Lucien here too?”

“Ah yes, I was told you also summoned him here, I’m afraid he’s yet to show himself, my friend.”

“Oh, that’s a shame, I really wanted the three of us to meet at once, but no matter, he’ll arrive when he has to, in the meantime why don’t you tell me what you’ve been doing? How’s Langley these days?”

Before Inigo could answer, a captain appeared and interrupted, “I’m very sorry to cut your meeting short, but I’m afraid the attack force is requesting your aid immediately, my lord.”

“Of course, I shouldn’t’ve forgotten, my apologies, we’ll catch up when we have to, will we not?” asked Tywin.

“Any time, my friend, any time.” Inigo nodded.

The both of them got back to their respective horses, ready to ride up the road towards the city, to finally put an end to this foolish would-be Stormcloak rebellion, the two armies now combined.

But something in the air made Tywin’s heart sink. A sound he was far too familiar with, a sound he had first heard seventeen years before, in Helgen. Like the howling of wind, only deeper, more powerful, a sound so terrible it made the ground tremble, a roar, an ancient roar of fury no man could ever fully understand, for men are mortal, and they know only mortal fury, and this was immortal, undying, unending.

This was the roar of a dragon.

_Solitude_

The people leaving the city all looked up, and screamed in terror, some went back into the city, others scattered around the docks, trying to get as far away as possible. People trampled one another, and some even tried to swim away. Terrible roars of pure rage were coming from above the buildings of the city, Tyral looked at the beast making all the noise, and saw a dragon for the first time in his life. What he felt back in the Winking Skeever, back when Tyral used his strange magic and killed Elenwen was dread, an ominous fear, one where he was unsure of what to do or think, what he was feeling now was horror, the beast was there, a dragon as real as the sun it was blocking, and it was furious.

He stood there, frozen, until Ildur and Bernielle took him by the arms and began running back to look for shelter, and if possible, find the rest of the insurrection. The dragon began shouting… something, it sounded ancient, a language neither Tyral, Bernielle nor Ildur understood.

“Joor! Nah! Hi vodremt dii laag! Hi krii dii zeymahzin! Zu'u fen al hin hofkahsejun!”

Then, it unleashed fire from its maw, burning all which stood in the way of the flames, houses began burning, trees were blazing, smoke covered the skies.

They reached the entrance to the city, where Faenor seemed to be arguing angrily with Fidus, who was shouting something at him, pointing at the dragon and poking the elf in the chest. Arrows were fired from the other side of the wall, the reinforcements were shooting at the dragon, as well as the rest of the guards stationed at the battlements. Suddenly, Fidus pulled his sword out, pointing it at Faenor and stepping back, Faenor did not react to this.

The dragon passed by near where the three companions were standing, and left a wall of fire in the street, making them hide behind the pillars of Radiant Raiment. They looked back at Fidus, he was attacking Faenor, he attempted once, twice, thrice, and all three times he missed, Faenor seemed to be talking normally with him. The fourth time Fidus tried to strike, Faenor grabbed the sword by the blade before it hit him, pushed it aside, and a bright purple sword appeared in his hand, he then spun around Fidus and used the momentum to cut his head off.

Tyral shrieked loudly at this, Ildur gasped in terror, and Bernielle did nothing but let her jaw drop in disbelief, making her bandages fall off. What the fuck was going on?

Onthus approached them running, avoiding the fire that decorated the city walls and streets.

“Onthus!” yelled Ildur, “Wait, why are you here? Where are the children?!”

“Don’t worry, I made sure to leave them in good hands, but that doesn’t matter right now, we need to _go_ ,” replied Onthus, pointing to the only path to the city gates still not covered in fire.

“I agree,” said Bernielle, feeling once again the piercing pain of her swollen jaw.

“Wait, no, Bee, I can’t just…” Tyral began to speak, in his panic, he failed to notice her bandages were missing.

“Okay, no, no, shut the fuck up, no buts this time, no anything, this is all happening right now, there is no time to argue, and you will come with us too, otherwise we’ll all die.”

“Okay, you’re right, we have to move, I’m sorry.”

Bernielle did not respond to the apology, they all started moving back to where the people had left before. There were charred bodies lying on the streets, and people on fire screaming for help, Tyral and his group did the best they could to ignore them, but it wasn’t enough.

The group reached the gates; in relief, Tyral almost took a deep breath, before realizing almost everything was covered in smoke, at which point he coughed loudly. Everyone felt the same relief, and as they were about to reach the exit, a frighteningly familiar sound came close, the sound of huge wings.

The beast landed in front of them, roaring in fury, so loud it made their ears ring. Onthus took his axe out, though his usual battle stance was missing, instead he made an awkward pose, like one a new soldier would make in their first battle.

Tyral took out Crownbreaker, even though he saw no point, he’d barely fought anyone in his life, not even a wolf found itself among his victims, the one time he’d actually fought and won was when he had Faenor by his side, and now he’d just killed one of their allies, what was he even doing? Why did Fidus pull out his sword? What did Faenor say during that?

These thoughts crossed Tyral’s mind as the dragon once again spoke in its ancient language, but what it said didn’t even matter, all Tyral knew was that he was going to die, a glow came out of the dragon’s throat, and it sounded like it said something while it spewed out flames, the fire approached, Tyral could feel the heat now.

Ildur quickly did something with her hands, a faint light appeared in front of the group, the fire spread around the light, like rain hitting rooftiles, she held the spell for as long as she could, but it looked like she was quickly draining her magicka, and would break the spell at any moment.

This was it, Tyral thought, the only notable thing he ever did was inspire people to behead a woman, and now he was going to die.

Suddenly, a figure obscured the sun, someone jumped from above the battlements. A man in a black coat, and a black beard landed on top of the dragon, he grabbed it by the jaw and prevented it from roasting the group, who could only stare in awe. The man spoke in the same language as the dragon, with the same booming tone.

“Braan Dovah! Kuz daar vorohah! Dreh hi ni dahmaan hin vahrot?!”

“Meyus joor! Dir voth hin eylok! Pah fen ag! Pah!”

The dragon then shook its head violently, making the man in black crash against a wall, he groaned in pain, and the dragon began to fly up, ready to burn another row of buildings to the ground.

As he got up, the man shouted in normal human language to someone yet unseen.

“Inigo! Get your bow ready!”

The dragon was now in midair, about to fly away, when the man shouted yet another set of ancient words.

“Joor - Zah - Frul!”

A blue beam of light flew from the man’s mouth into the flying demon, and as soon as it hit, its wings seemed to contract, as if they were restrained with invisible chains, the dragon began to fall down, and it landed in the forest outside the city walls.

Akatosh almighty, Tyral thought, this was the Dragonborn!

The group followed the Dragonborn outside, where the dragon was standing, seemingly in pain, a man in silver armor was shooting arrows into the wings of the beast at tremendous speeds, making sure the dragon would not start flying once the shout wore off.

“Gein zos grozein, braan Dovah! Gahviik uv dir!” the man shouted.

“Ag! Ag! Ag Pah!” the dragon retorted, Tyral could only guess it wasn’t submitting.

The Dragonborn looked disappointed, almost sad for a moment, and charged at the dragon, sword in hand, ready to end it. The dragon roared and used its flames one more time, but a new shout from the man in black got rid of the flames.

“Fus - Ro - Dah!”

In a single motion, the silver sword stabbed the Dragon’s neck, it roared in pain, and it quickly fell to the ground, dead. Before long, a flow of many different colors emerged from the corpse, and flowed into the Dragonborn, surrounding him with energy, giving him an almost divine look.

He inhaled once, and spoke to the group.

“Alright, you’re all safe now, you should get out of here before the… hey wait a minute, what are you all doing here?” he asked.

The group looked at one another, before Tyral answered.

“We were escaping?” It wasn’t a question, but Tyral didn’t know whether it was worse to admit to the Dragonborn that they were directly involved in the plans of the rebellion or to straight up lie to him, so he chose the former.

“From what? The siege?”

“Yes.”

“How, if you don’t mind me asking?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“By telling most of our men to gather around the main gate therefore allowing us and some other people to escape…?”

Everyone slowly turned to look at Tyral, who kept a straight face, regardless of his expression, he was sort of terrified.

“’Our’ men, you say? So, if I understand correctly that would make you…”

“Lord mayor of the city of Solitude, Tyral.”

“I was going to say, ‘one of the morons that started this whole thing’, but I doubt there’s any difference.”

The Dragonborn approached Tywin and placed his hands on his shoulders, even Tyral, who’d never considered himself short felt like a dwarf looking up at this man’s blue eyes.

“You said you allowed other people to escape, how many?”

“W-what?”

“I asked, how many people beside you and your friends left the city?”

“About… forty? I don’t know I didn’t-” Before Tyral could finish his sentence, the Dragonborn’s fist met his nose, knocking him to the ground.

Bernielle frowned and began to shout at the Dragonborn.

“Hey! You can’t jus~” she said before the pain kicked in once again, so strong she fell to her knees, her vision started to get a bit blurry.

“Bee!” Tyral shouted, not even noticing the trail of blood running down his nostrils, “Bee! Are you okay? Shit! Her bandages! I forgot about her bandages!”

The Dragonborn went to check the injured girl, and saw a swollen, bruised jaw, clearly broken and infected.

“Oh gods, we need to get her to a healer, fast,” said the Dragonborn, shocked at this sight.

“But all the healers escaped the city before any of us did! You have to get her out of here, please! You can do whatever you want to me, I won’t fight, but you gotta help her!” Tyral pleaded.

Tywin would’ve asked for further begging, considering this _was_ a member of a new rebellion, but something about those words echoed in his mind, reminding him of a younger man, with the same expression, as fire and blood surrounded him, begging someone to help his…

“Okay, but you’re not getting off that easy, I have some questions for you, young man.” The Dragonborn helped Bernielle up. He noted this was the first time that he’d helped injured women up to get away two days in a row. That was strange.

“Inigo,” said the Dragonborn.

“Yes, my friend?” replied the man in silver armor, Tyral could now see he was a Khajiit.

“Could you call the horses for us?”

“Of course.” Inigo whistled a particularly high note, and the sounds of horses galloping approached them.

Suddenly, something unexpected, a soldier riding a third horse appeared from behind some bushes, he looked panicked.

“Sir! Sir! You have to come, quickly!” the man said, gasping for air, “Thalmor troops, in Dragonbridge!”

“What?!” said the Dragonborn, “Shit, you all stay here, don’t go anywhere.”

Everyone else nodded.

Bernielle spoke, “Wait, Dragonbridge? That’s where my…” She stopped and winced, getting up on the Dragonborn’s horse. She looked back at Tyral with concern in her eyes, he could only return a reassuring glance.

Once the group was left alone, unsure of what to do, or where to go, Onthus provided an idea.

“So, I think we should get out of here while we still can, I don’t want to be here when the Thalmor arrive.”

“I feel the same way, I just don’t know where we’ll go,” Ildur replied solemnly.

“Maybe we can go back down to the docks, see if there are any boats left?” Onthus said.

“Yes, good idea, let’s go,” Tyral agreed.

“ _Or_ ,” said a fourth voice from behind them, “you could all return to the Blue Palace, where I left you, and where you SHOULD be.”

Startled, everyone turned to face Faenor, who was crossing his arms, with an annoyed look on his face.

“How did you kn-” Tyral began.

“Know where you were? Did you seriously think I hadn’t thought about taking people out of the city before the ‘siege’ started?” Faenor yelled, “If I knew you were just going to take about fifty people I would’ve kept the dragon in place for longer.”

“Wait, what?” asked Onthus, after they all paused to look at one another.

“I’ve decided to be completely honest with you all, as lying or manipulating you has only seemingly brought misfortune on everyone except yourselves.”

“You made the dragon come to the city?!” asked Tyral.

“No, I merely lured it here, it was already gravely upset at you people for several, equally disturbing reasons. Now, enough of this chatter, I need you to come back to the palace, Tyral.” Faenor stretched his hand, beckoning Tyral to follow him.

The young imperial thought about it, and said: “No.”

Faenor groaned, “Are you _absolutely_ certain you want to do this? Do we need to do this while my comrades are approaching the city, ready to fight the black dragons?”

“You’ve done nothing but lie and manipulate us! You’ve made the city burn! You caused the deaths of dozens, if not hundreds! I won’t ever let you lie to me, or use me again, Faenor, I’m done being a pawn in your game.”

Faenor facepalmed and laughed, “I cannot believe you, you actual twelve-year-old, really? Are you going to pin these preventable deaths on me? Didn’t you hear me? I said I was planning on helping people get away either way, but you went ahead and tried to evacuate people on your own, emphasis on _tried_. If you’d actually bothered to plan it out, and evacuate more people, or better yet, ask me for help, a lot more townsfolk could’ve escaped. I don’t want people to die, you know, I did help you out when Elenwen tried to have you arrested, I can guarantee she would’ve tortured you until you begged for death, I could’ve done what any other Thalmor bastard would’ve and start slaving the people away for our own benefit the moment we took the palace, I do want to help you.”

“Stop bullshitting, we should’ve never trusted one of you, all you’ve always wanted is power over Skyrim.” Ildur pointed accusingly at Faenor.

“You’re one to talk, you pitiful shadow of a mage, I would say that your kind have always taken power for themselves, and abused common people for their own good, but then again, you’d have to be a competent magic user to be part of that demographic.”

Ildur blushed in anger and embarrassment.

“Besides, do you really believe I want power for myself? That’s exactly what I need you for, Tyral, I need you to be my voice to the people, while I execute the more intricate parts of my plan,” said Faenor.

“You mean, the Thalmor’s plan.” Onthus narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t care about the Thalmor, they can all go ahead and die for all I care, what I’m planning is much more complex than ‘d’oh let’s enslave mankind because we can do slightly less pathetic magic and have pointy ears du-huh’, no, I plan to help all those who live in Tamriel, everyone in Nirn, too.” Faenor clarified.

“Explain it, then, your plan,” Tyral requested.

“Auriel, give me strength, we don’t have time! You need to come back to the Blue Palace with me so I can explain it better!”

Tyral pulled out Crownbreaker, and pointed it at Faenor.

“I’m tired of hearing you talk, elf, talking and talking but no speaking, if you won’t explain then I won’t try to understand,” he took a battle stance, “besides, if you want to force me back to the palace, you’re going to have to do it properly.”

“Are… are you fucking serio-” Tyral charged at him, and Faenor instinctively made the light purple sword appear in his hand again.

Ildur charged her magicka again, and prepared for an attack, Onthus took his axe out and charged at Faenor with Tyral. Together, they were actually hitting him, or rather, hitting his sword. Faenor continued talking as they fought, pleading for them to stop.

“I cannot believe this; I’m genuinely begging you to stop.”

“Shut up and fight, Thalmor scum!” yelled Onthus, swinging his axe, missing Faenor’s arm by an inch.

Ildur blasted fireballs out of her hands when Faenor managed to shove the two men fighting him, but he easily deflected or just dodged them. The sword on Faenor’s hand was slightly transparent, which made Tyral think it was certainly some kind of fake weapon, though it worked just as well as a real one.

They fought for a while, and the sun started descending rather than ascending, it was the afternoon now.

“Enough!” shouted Faenor, pushing Onthus aside with magic, he hit a tree and fell down unconscious.

Faenor began to levitate, and the same somber feeling Tyral felt back at the Winking Skeever was back, that terrible dread.

“I will give you one last chance to come back with me, Tyral, I still need you, and I will protect you and your friends, if you let me.” He stretched his hand out once more, and had a very genuine look of concern on his face.

The feeling of dread was still there, but something began to overpower it, a feeling of confidence, of bravado, Tyral was still scared of Faenor, but he was also tired of him being so nice to him, it was obviously a trick, he didn’t actually care about him, or his friends, he was ready to kill those Tyral cared about, as he killed the people in Solitude, as he killed Elisif, but he did say he needed him, right? So there it was, as long as Tyral kept that in his mind, there was no problem, no risk in taunting Faenor.

“You know, you do seem to hate mages quite a lot, may I ask why that is?” asked Tyral.

“What?” Faenor’s look of concern was replaced by a frown, and confusion.

“I’m just saying, you do constantly say mages are bad, and you say ‘magic scum’ a lot, did you get dumped by a mage or something? Did she leave you for someone who had a better personality than ‘boring nice guy’?” Tyral felt like he was crossing a line, but he didn’t care, he was angry, at himself, at Faenor, at everything that had happened in the last few weeks, at how inexplicably foolish and naïve he had been, and at how he had put those he loved at risk, Bernielle was injured, Blaise was dead, Bolion was… oh shit, Bolion, he was still in the Blue Palace.

“You… I will not have you speak to me like, that, Tyral, I will not, I WILL NOT, your time is running short, will you come with me, or die?”

He needed him, Faenor needed him, he said it himself, it was all alright, there was no danger.

“Don’t worry, I’ve gone through break ups too, but I grew out of them, because I _grew up_.”

Faenor was furious, he looked genuinely angry, Tyral felt satisfaction, knowing he had hurt him, this was good, it was all good, he was in charge, he had Faenor right where he wanted him.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut UP, SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“Hey, now, you wouldn’t want me to get upset, right? You said it yourself, you still need-”

Faenor began to charge energy up, his sword disappeared, his fists began to glow red with fire, he was charging an attack, but it wasn’t for Tyral, it couldn’t’ve been, he still needed him, he said it himself, he still needed Tyral.

Faenor screamed, very loudly.

An enormous blast of fire appeared from Faenor’s hands, Tyral looked in horror, it was alright however, he was going to stop himself, he still needed him. The fire approached, Tyral felt the heat, he felt his skin burn, he smelled his hair char, but it was alright, it was okay, he was safe, he still needed-

**End of Part 1**

**Author's Note:**

> Good evening, my name is Aisaac, and I hope you're having a great day. This is my first upload ever, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Hopefully, I'll be able to upload the next part soon. Thank you so much for reading! And don't forget to keep yourself safe, and if possible, stay at home, cheers.  
> This story was inspired by several mods from nexusmods.com, such as:  
> Sjel Blad Castle- https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/41612  
> Inigo- https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/40960  
> Lucien - Fully Voiced Follower- https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/95029


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